


Splintered

by phantisma



Series: Splintered [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-13
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:11:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is always in the middle, struggling to hold his family together, to take care of his father and Sam...no matter what that means...no matter what that costs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the Pairings and understand that this includes father/son incest as well as brother incest.  This is also dubious con/non-con (depending on how you read Dean's choices) and contains under age sex (Dean's 16 when it begins.  Sam is 15 when sexual interaction begins with him).  This is dark and scary and creepy and not a John I'd like to encounter. 

_It starts when you’re sixteen.It isn’t your fault, it isn’t really his either, but you don’t know that then.It isn’t even wrong exactly.Not when it starts.He’s hurt and you deal with it.He’s bleeding and you stitch him up, just like he showed you.It’s just one more thing he needs, another way to support him, to ease the pain of these hunts, these battles he runs headlong into, never looking back, except when he’s looking over his shoulder.And he never apologizes, and you’re never sure what that means._

They were in some town in Massachusetts, in a rented house nestled back off the road in a wooded area that had hidden revolutionaries back in the day.Sam was all about the history.Dad was all about the ghosts.Dean was just about getting through it all and out again before winter.

Their father was on a bender of sorts.They had a small amount of cash, and Dean was working odd jobs for the summer, so John hunted.Every night something new; ghosts…more ghosts than Dean could remember, werewolves, skinwalkers, a witch or three.Two months in Dean stopped really remembering each individual hunt. 

Dean stayed home and watched over Sam.John went out hunting.Sometimes he was home in time for supper.Other times he’d be gone a few days.The area was crawling with supernatural shit and Dean almost resented being left home.Almost, because there was Sam, and Dean might give the boy a lot of shit, but he didn’t want Sam out there on the hunt and he sure as hell didn’t want him home alone, not after that werewolf thing the winter before.

So Dean stayed home, and patched his father up when he came home…and made sure Sam got to school and got food.The boy was growing inches every two or three days and they could barely keep him fed.

John had been gone for three days when Dean heard the sound of the Impala rumbling up the long drive and crawled out of bed.He headed toward the living room, grabbing the first aid kit from the bathroom on the way.He was still rubbing at his eyes when he got to the living room, standing in the sad light of the dirty overhead fixture in his boxers and t-shirt.

His father was sitting on the couch, dully, staring at the floor.He hadn’t moved to take off his coat or kick off his boots.“Hey…you okay?”

Dean put the first aid kit on the coffee table and moved closer, flicking on the nearest lamp.His father flinched from the light, but otherwise didn’t react.There were scratches down the one side of his face, long and thin, bleeding.Dean tilted his face to the light and sighed.“They don’t need stitches.”

Still, his father didn’t move.“Dad?Anything else?”

Dean frowned.His father wasn’t ever the most talkative man after a hunt, especially if it went bad…but this was…weird.He reached for the coat and pulled it off.The shirt was torn at the collar, but he didn’t see blood.“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dean tended the wounds on his face, cleaned them and bandaged them, then moved around in front of his father to get a better look at the torn shirt.John hissed as Dean’s hand connected with his chest and Dean pulled apart the sides of his shirt.“Damn.Dad.”The gash looked angry, red, but oddly wasn’t bleeding, and didn’t look as if it had.In fact, it almost looked burned, like whatever cut him was hot and it cauterized the wound as it went.

“Move your knees a little.”Dean pushed his father’s legs apart, and pulled the table closer so he could sit on it.The cut started under his left arm and moved across and back, down onto his left hip.“Okay, Dad…we’re going to have to get you out of these jeans okay?”

Dean reached for his belt and unbuckled him.“Dad?”He still didn’t move, just sat staring.It made him uneasy.“Dad, can you hear me?”He snapped his fingers and John blinked.

“Dean?”He sounded confused, uncertain.

Dean sighed and fumbled with unzipping him, freezing as his hand brushed against him accidentally.John was hard inside his jeans.Really hard.Focus.Take care of the immediate need.That was his job.He was good at his job.

“Okay, Dad, need your help.”Dean ducked his head under his father’s right shoulder and hefted him up, tugging on the jeans until they gave and slipped over his ass and down.“Yeah, helpful.”John was dead weight as Dean settled him back onto the couch.

He wasn’t sure what the wound needed.It took him a minute to decide on treating it like a burn.He cleaned it and put a burn salve into it.His father sat passive, all but his dick, which just stuck up inside his underwear.Dean kept bumping it as he worked on the bottom of the wound, and when he did his father would moan.It was… disturbing… wrong.

Dean finished taping bandages over the gash and looked up at his father.His eyes were dark, focused on the space between them.“Dad.”

John moved…enough to bring his hand in to cradle his cock.“Okay…I’ll leave you to it then.”Dean moved to stand, but his father’s free hand clamped down on his wrist.“Ow.” 

His father was jacking off.Right there in front of him.Only, not really doing an effective job of it, from what Dean could tell.Not that he was an expert, but…it generally took more than that for him.John’s face lifted, his unfocused eyes looking in Dean’s direction.“Hurts.”

“Dad…come on.”This was just…Dean looked away.

He panted and squeezed Dean’s wrist.“Dad.I can’t…”

“Please.”

His voice was more of a growl…nothing like his father…and his face looked pained…and after his grip tightened even more on Dean’s arm, Dean closed his eyes and went to his knees between the table and the couch, between his father’s knees, his free hand circling over the hand John wa stroking over his cock, still trapped in his underwear.“Okay...easy.You can do this.”

He wasn’t sure who he was reassuring, his father or himself, but as his hand tightened, John pulled his free until the only thing between Dean and his father’s cock was a layer of cotton.Dean closed his eyes, didn’t want to see…couldn’t think about what it was he was doing.John leaned forward, his head on Dean’s shoulder as Dean sped up, just wanting to get it over with.His father grunted twice, then came inside his underwear and he let go of Dean.

Dean looked at his damp hand in disgust and stood up, wiping his hand against his boxers.“You…should sleep Dad.”John nodded absently, lying down on the couch, and Dean pulled the comforter from the chair where Sam had left it after his nap and laid it over his father.

He washed his hands and put the first aid kit away before he crawled back into bed.It was nothing.It was nothing more than bandaging a wound or scratching an itch.It was nothing.And it was over.Just forget it and sleep.Things would go back to normal in the morning.He had a job digging a new pool with a bunch of other guys the next few days.

 

 

_You’re not really sure if he doesn’t remember or is just embarrassed the next morning, when you’re up before dawn and he greets you with a smile and a cup of coffee and a story about the hunt.But you figure it’s just as well.You don’t want to talk about it either.Things do go back to normal, or what passes for normal for Winchesters.He’s gotten whatever it is out of his system and he’s ready to move on.Something about a haunting in Philly and just like that you and Sam load up the car and you hit the road.Good riddance to_ _Massachusetts_ _._

Philadelphia turned out to be a bust, but John settled them in to a rental in West Virginia for the start of the school year.He took an honest job and made a go at the whole normal thing.Dean thought it odd that there hadn’t been a hunt since that night, but he didn’t bring it up.They stayed until Christmas, and then John dragged them West, following a trail Dean didn’t understand from clues that made no sense.They were in some small town in north Texas in January when John went away for a few days, leaving Sam and Dean to their own devices with little more to do than go to school and try to charm cheerleaders out of their kick pants.

When he came home, Dean had only been asleep for a few hours, and he could tell from the way his father’s footsteps dragged that something wasn’t quite right.He blinked at the clock, checked Sam on the other bed and peeled back the sheet.

There was blood on the floor, a trail of it from the door to the kitchen.Dean stopped to grab the first aid kit and headed for the kitchen.John was standing by the table.“Dad?”

There was no response and Dean shook his head, reaching out to touch his shoulder.His face was a vacant stare.There was a cut on his left thigh, deep and bloody, which is what had made the trail, soaking into his jeans and dripping over his foot.“Jesus Dad, sit down.”

He pushed until John sat heavily in the chair behind him and Dean went to one knee immediately. His hands sought out the tear in the jeans, ripping it wider and looking for the wound.It was only about six inches long, but it gaped and bled.“Fuck, what did this?”He looked up, but John’s face was pale and distant, his eyes glazed over and distracted.“Okay.I’m gonna have to stitch this.”

He fumbled with the needle and he didn’t have anything for the pain, but he got the thing closed off and the bleeding stopped.His hands were still bloody when John caught his wrist.His eyes were dark and unfocused and his cock was hard inside his jeans.

“Dad.”

“Please.”

“No, Dad.Just…no.”

His hand tightened around Dean’s wrist.

“Need.Hurts.”His voice was strained and not like his father, not like anything but that night.

He pulled Dean closer, pulled Dean’s hand toward his groin, pressed it against him, groaning.“Dad.Stop.” He’d tried to forget it.The need in his father’s face, the way he’d groaned and grunted and came.

“Need.”

Dean closed his eyes and gave in, unzipping his father and reaching in to wrap his hand around him, around the white cotton of his briefs.It took longer than the last time, his father panting and growling until he finally came and Dean backed away, left the kitchen to wash the blood from his hands.He stumbled back to bed.He didn’t sleep, couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the dark in his father’s face, without feeling his cock in his hands.

His father was chipper the next morning as he dragged Sam into the kitchen to eat breakfast. “Morning boys.”

Sam moped and slumped into his seat, waiting for Dean to bring the cereal.“Did you get it?” Sam asked, more because it was expected than because he was interested.

“Sure did.”John slid into a chair opposite Sam.“Nasty sucker.He threw me through two walls before I found the damn locket and melted it down.

Dean set the Lucky Charms on the table with a bowl and a spoon for Sam and went to get the milk.Sam was in the chair, the one John had been sitting on.The blood was gone.There were no signs that anything had happened there the night before.

Dean watched his father. He was happy.He was fucking happy.He huffed and poured himself a cup of coffee.“How’s the leg?” Dean asked.

John looked up at him and frowned.“Fine.”His hand covered the spot on his leg where Dean had stitched him up.“How did you know?”

Dean made a face and shook his head.“I stitched you up last night.”

“You did?”John looked confused.“I don’t remember.”

How could he not remember?Not that Dean was going to remind him of anything else that happened.“Eat your breakfast Sammy.Don’t want to be late.”

“Since when do you care about being late?”John asked.

“Since Tammy Wilberton sat next to him in homeroom.”Sam said.Dean made a face at him.

“More for Sammy than me, Dad.You know how’s grumpy for days if he thinks he’s missed anything.”

“Well, why don’t you take the car then?”John said and both boys looked at him.

“What?”

John smiled, and for a moment Dean was more afraid of him than if he’d been yelling.“You heard me.It’s supposed to get cold today anyway.I’m just going to hang around here, get some rest.”

“I’m not gonna argue.”Dean said.

John put the keys on the table and sipped his coffee.“Just be careful.I want her back without a mark on her.”

Dean snatched the keys and shoved them in his own pocket.“You done yet, Sam?”

John chuckled and stood, putting his coffee cup in the sink.“We’re out of butter and could use some hot dogs or something.Pick up some groceries on your way home.”He handed Dean a twenty and left the kitchen.

Dean stared at the money, then looked up at Sam.“Come on slow poke, let’s get you to your class.”

 

_It takes a while, happens a few more times, before you make your peace with it.You keep telling yourself it’s nothing.Just relief, just taking care of him.And it isn’t like you’re fucking.It isn’t like you’re even really touching him.You’re touching the cotton of his underwear, you pull away before you can feel the heat and wet of his come on your skin.It isn’t sex, so you can cope with it.For him._

Dean’s begun to know the signs…he gets a feeling.Sometimes he knows before John’s even left the house.Sometimes it’s when he hears the rumble of the Impala.It’s always after a hunt.There’s blood.There’s the empty stare, the dark eyes, the vacant expression.And after…it’s like nothing happened.

Sam was thirteen.Their father was gone, but had promised he’d come home for his birthday.But the day was nearly over and Dean had a sick feeling in his gut.“I’m sure he tried, Sammy.”Dean said, but even he could tell he didn’t mean it.

“You should stop lying for him Dean.It’s not like I believe you.”

“Cheer up Sammy, I’m here.And I got you a present.”

Sam’s eyes lit up as Dean came back to the table.“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“I put it under your pillow.”Dean watched him tear out of the kitchen and down the short hallway, chuckling.The kid was a serious nerd…but then, their mother had had a streak of nerd too.He waited, the dirty glasses hanging in his hands forgotten as Sam came back into the kitchen with the gift, wrapped in last Sunday’s funny pages that Dean stole off the porch of the old man who lived next to the school.

“A book?”Sam looked up at him.

“Yeah, with words and everything, Sammy.”

He threw his exasperated look Dean’s way, then tore into the paper, his hands stilling and his face going completely still and reverent.“Heinlein?”

“Mom loved that book.I wanted to give you hers…but I lost it a few years ago.”Dean looked away, turned to put the glasses in the sink.Didn’t want Sam to see the tears.“I saw it a couple months ago, at the flea market where you got that damn hat.”

It was probably a bit thick for a thirteen year old.Hell, Dean had never even finished reading it.Always stopped in the same place.Where the bookmark was.Couldn’t ever go past it.

“Mom read this?”

“To hear Dad tell it, Sam, she read it over and over again.It was on her nightstand the night…fell under the bed.The water damage was hardly noticeable.”Dean cleared his throat and turned on the water to cover the emotion.“You…you better get to bed though.Early day tomorrow.”

He was suddenly engulfed in arms from behind.“I love it Dean.”Sam said fiercely before letting go and moving away.

“And don’t stay awake all night reading it.You really do have to be up early.”

“I know.Field trip.”

Dean sighed and let himself relax a little after he left the room.He snuffled at the tear still threatening to fall and shook his head.Stupid thing to give the kid.He busied himself with the dishes, setting them to dry on the rack before sighing again.He should probably crash too.

But he had this feeling.

So he checked on Sam, took the book away and turned off the light.He stood in the door for a while watching him sleep.Thirteen.It seemed so surreal.Their whole lives, from the day Sam came home from the hospital, Sam had been his…his baby brother, his best friend…and Dean’s job had always been to keep him safe, to take care of him.A surrogate mother, a stand-in father.

He heard the Impala make the corner at the end of the street, tensed and slipped out of the room pulling the door shut and stopping in the bathroom for the first aid kit.He was waiting in the living room when his father came in, dark and quiet and it seemed like he was suddenly bigger than Dean remembered, filling up the space and Dean couldn’t look up to see his eyes.

There were no words.There never was.There was no blood this time either.Only a fresh bruise on his chin.Dean sat and waited.For a long moment he thought maybe he’d been wrong.Then he was there.Standing in front of Dean.Waiting.Breathing heavy. 

Dean nodded and reached up, his hand shaking a little.He didn’t look more than to get the zipper open.It’s not like he needed to see.Then his hand closed over heated flesh.There was no soft cotton of worn underwear.The heavy thickness of his father was in his hand.Soft velvety skin, coarse, wiry hair.

He was sticky, like he’d already come and it had dried on him.John moaned…an almost mournful sound that made Dean look up.His father’s eyes were closed.His teeth were bared…like an animal.

Just do it.Get it over with.

Don’t look.Don’t breathe.Just do it and forget it, just like he does.

Dean kept his eyes averted, his head turned.His breathing was shallow.His hand stuttered over the flesh, each pull a little too hard without something to ease the drag.His father swayed in front of him, and Dean just wanted him to come all ready.

John grunted and Dean knew he was hurting him.He paused to pull his hand away, spitting into it to lube it a little bit.John’s cock was red and angry looking when Dean wrapped his hand back around it.Furious.Like Dean should be.Would be if it wasn’t clearly something…necessary.His father wasn’t himself on nights like this.There was something helpless in the way he simply stood there while Dean sped up the pace of his hand and finally felt John tense, then there was hot come on his hand, sticky, and Dean grimaced as he pulled his hand away, reaching for his t-shirt to wipe his hand clean.

He couldn’t say anything, just left John standing there in the living room with his cock hanging out and went to shower.By the time he finished and went to bed, he could see his father had left a present by Sam’s bed.

Dean punched his lumpy pillow into submission and curled up under his blanket.He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to admit to it, but he could still feel his father’s come on his hand, hot…burning into the lies he told himself.

It’s nothing.It’s just what he needs.Nothing more.What kind of son would he be if he couldn’t do that much?

Still, Dean rubbed his hand over the sheets.It felt dirty.

 

_You drive, ignore Kansas altogether.Not one of you wants to deal with that.You’re Winchesters, you don’t dwell on the past, you bury it and move on.Go east instead, Alabama and a sticky summer.You take care of the ghost of a slave and rent a guest house on the plantation from the little old lady who thinks Sam is the cutest thing she’s ever seen, or that he’s her granddaughter, depending on the day.A month.You don’t even realize you’re counting the days.A month since the last time.You don’t realize how you’ve started to come undone…unraveled…June.It’s hot and sticky and he’s got you running and training.Sam complains, but you don’t dare.Something’s coming.He knows it, and won’t say, but you say “Yes sir” and you do as you’re told.Just like always._

Sam was sweating and doubled over and Dean pushed a bottle of water into his hands, panting himself as he opened his own bottle and poured some into his mouth.“You okay, Sammy?”

“It’s Sam, and I’m fine.”Sam stood and drank his water, his eyes scanning the obstacle course for their father.“Where’d he go?”

Dean looked up and around, then spotted him down by the stream.He pointed.“Looks like he’s getting wet.”He squinted.Something wasn’t right.His father was…stiff. Dean swallowed and stood up.“Why don’t you head in and shower?”

Sam made a face at him like he was crazy.“When I could swim?”He put his bottle of water down on the Impala and headed toward their father before Dean could stop him.

“Damn.”He wasn’t sure.Wouldn’t be, not until he could see his father’s face.He jogged after his brother, calling after him to wait up.

It never came like this.Always when he’d been away, when he’d been hunting.Always at night, not in the bright light of day.

When they reached the stream, John was standing ankle deep in the shallows that led into a four-foot deep swimming hole.He didn’t move as they approached.Didn’t say anything as Sam dropped behind him and started pulling his shoes off.Dean touched John’s shoulder and he didn’t move.“Dad?Everything okay?” 

He tugged a little and John’s face turned, his eyes dark, vacant.“Shit.Not here. Not now.”Dean was in the water, soaking his shoes and sweats.Sam was nearly naked, stripped down to his briefs and wading in to the deeper water.John’s face turned, following the long line of Sam’s back.

“No.”Dean had to stop this before it went somewhere it shouldn’t.“Dad…let’s go inside…okay?”He didn’t have to look to know his father would be hard.Hard and looking at Sam.No.Dean had let this go too far already.He wasn’t about to let Sam get dragged into it.Sam couldn’t ever know.

Dean tugged on his father’s arm, urging him up out of the water.John came hesitantly, his eyes eventually coming back to Dean, all dark and dangerous.“Sam, you okay alone?Dad needs…I think those stitches busted loose, I’m going to take him in…fix…it.”

Sam just waved, dropping backwards into the water.Dean nodded to himself and tugged on his father’s arm.“Fuck…this is just…fuck!”

He got them as far as the house, around the corner toward the side door and John stopped.Just stopped.Refused to take another step.

“Dad?”Dean turned to face him, thought he saw something flicker in his eyes.

John inhaled sharply, pulled himself upright.He blinked, and the darkness retreated.His eyes flicked over Dean, then away.He frowned.Turned away and adjusted himself as if Dean wouldn’t know he was hard.

“Got a hunt tonight.Won’t be home,” he grunted.“You and Sammy be okay?”

Dean swallowed and nodded.“You sure you want to hunt tonight?You don’t look so good.”

“Make sure he trains tomorrow.He’ll try to get out of it if I’m not here.”

“We’re running tomorrow.” Dean said automatically, though his forehead crinkled up as he watched his father.“You sure you’re okay?”

John opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then closed it again. “I’m fine Dean.Go get your fool brother out of the water and fix dinner.I’m going to shower.”

Dean watched him go.He was even more confused.He was beginning to wonder if his father was possessed…and if he was, then he had to wonder what he was hunting…and Dean didn’t know for sure how to go about figuring it all out.He couldn’t just walk up to him and “Christo” him. 

Not when he didn’t seem to know…and if he wasn’t…well, Dean wasn’t sure how his father would react.It was pretty clear that John didn’t know, didn’t remember…but how can you not remember _that_?

And Dean certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell John Winchester that every few weeks for the last 10 months, his son had been jacking him off.

 

_It sits heavy, the not knowing.Casts doubt on your conviction that helping him was the right thing.Breaks you just a little more…splinters your heart.You dig through his journal when he’s sleeping, tracing it back, to that first night, to the hunt.You don’t know why you can’t find it; don’t know why you can’t remember what he’d gone out after.Don’t know how to stop it.Don’t know what it is.You stand over his bed and whisper the word, but he sleeps and no demon comes screaming out of his face.You crawl into bed and watch your brother sleep and wait, wondering how long before it happens again._

They had planned to leave Alabama before the end of June, but John got word of an incubus that needed dealing with, and they were close.Dean helped him pack up for the hunt, arguing that John should take him along.Dean hadn’t ever had a chance to go after an incubus.

Sam cleared his throat and both John and Dean looked up expectantly.“Hunt?”

Dean grinned.“Incubus, in Montgomery.”

“Cool.”Sam shuffled his feet.“You going too, Dean?”

“Dean’s staying here and taking care of you, Sam.”John said in that tone of voice, the one Dean never questioned, but made Sam crazy with his need to push the issue.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Dad. Besides, I was going to ask if I could spend the weekend at Jeremy Warren’s.His parents invited some of us over to camp in the back yard.”

John stopped and stared at Sam.“The whole weekend?”

Sam nodded.“Tonight and tomorrow night.”

Dean watched his father process the information.“Dean could use the experience.You trust these people?”

“Jeremy’s Dad is the vice-principal at the high school.His mom’s a nurse at the hospital.”

“Pack a bag Dean.”John said it gruffly, like it wasn’t a big deal.“We’ll drop you off Sam.”

They packed into the Impala and headed out, Dean practically bouncing in his spot, Sam rolling his eyes at his brother’s excitement.Sam scarcely said goodbye as he got out of the car, but Dean ignored him.His kid brother was strange, and he had a hunt to concentrate on.

“We’ll do preliminary work tonight.Tomorrow we hunt.”John said as they got on the road.

Dean nodded.Research was something he’d gotten accustomed to.“So what do we know?”

John was quiet for a long time, then glanced aside at his son.“There’s been a rash of sexual assault, all by men who are good, honest folk.All of them say they don’t remember what happened.All of them say they were in the same part of town in the afternoon, and the last thing they remember is getting in a taxi.”

“Any similarity in the victims?”Dean asked, scribbling notes in a small notebook.

John shook his head.“Men.They were all men.”

“Dude.”Dean looked up.His father shifted uncomfortably.

“I’ve been up against one like this before.Not easy to kill.”

“When?”

“Last year.Boston.”

Something about the way he said that made Dean uneasy.He glanced aside, but his father’s eyes were on the road.Boston.He licked his lips.“Did you kill it?”He held his breath.

John shook his head lightly.“No.Nicked it.But it got away.”

Dean chewed the inside of his cheek.“So…how do we kill it?”

“Cut its head off.”

Dean nodded.“Machetes then.”

 

It’s hot and sticky in Montgomery and Dean never was a big fan of hot and sticky.The motel had no air, just a creaking overhead fan that sounded like it was ready to fall off the ceiling.They weren’t in the room ten minutes and John was finding a reason to run.Food, and information.

The tension was high when he came back and Dean half expected his father to realize…to remember…to say something.Sleep was elusive, stretched out on top of the sheets beside his father.

Incubus.Sexual predator.This wasn’t the usual scenario.Somehow, rather than affecting people directly, this one was using other people to get its rocks off.It was infecting them somehow…of the five men picked up so far, four of them were straight, three of them married.Their victims had all been young men.

Young men.

Dean shook it off.If his father had been infected by this thing, hand jobs wouldn’t have been enough.It would have gotten a lot uglier a lot faster. It would have already been over. It was something else.

The taxi company was the likely place to start, and it only took a little convincing to get the dispatcher’s phone number and the name of the driver who consistently worked the part of town where the attacks took place.Dean grinned as he got back into the car, holding up the prize.“Steve Allwood.”

John growled, unhappy with something.Dean frowned.“What?”

“Nothing.Just keep your dick in your pants and your head in the game.”

 

“An incubus that can’t get it up?That’s rich.”Dean said, trying not to squirm as the thing moved in closer, sniffing at him.

“You’re a pretty one.” 

“Hey, Steve…not that you aren’t attractive and all…”Dean was pressed against the wall in an alley barely big enough to be called an alley.It had his hands pinned behind him.Where the hell was his father?

“Want to watch someone make you suck his cock.” Its voice was thick, sickening as it slithered around him.

“Not my thing, but thanks for the offer.”Dean bucked back, got one foot against the wall and pushed.For an old dude, Steve was strong.

“He’ll do,” it said and Dean turned, his father’s silhouette filled the alley.

“Not a chance.”It let go of Dean and launched itself at John.Dean lunged, grabbing his dropped machete and chasing after it.John stood numbly as it reached him, jumping, grabbing…kissing.He was too late.

“Dad…get out of the way, let me kill it.”Steve scrambled behind John, then shoved him toward Dean.

“Have fun boys…I’ll be seeing you.”

“Dad?”John was stalking toward him.Dean shook his head, backing up.“No…I don’t think so.”There was something familiar in the slack look on his face, in the blank stare.Dean ran out of alley before he’d figured out what to do.None of the research said how to deal with someone once they were affected.

He had the machete, but he wasn’t going to hurt his father.John stopped, reached out for him.Dean was still shaking his head when his father’s hands closed on his face, dragging him close and pressing his lips against Dean’s, pushing his tongue past Dean’s lips.

He tasted like coffee and cigarettes.He shouldn’t ever know what his father’s mouth tasted like.He pulled away as hard as he could, and one of his father’s hands fisted in his hair, keeping him firmly in place. 

Dean put his hands on his father’s chest and pushed as hard as he could.John moved a little, but his fist pulled Dean’s head back.Dean staggered and went down on one knee before he could regain his footing.

“Dad…I know you’re in there.You gotta snap out of it.”Dean was nearing panic.This wasn’t the same as jacking him off in the kitchen.This was something different.John’s free hand was unzipping his jeans.“Fuck.” Dean tried to pull free, felt his hair ripping from his scalp as he jerked forward.His hand slapped John’s arm away and he tried to stand, but that same hand came crashing down on his cheek and Dean fell back to his knees.

He got a good look as John moved in again, his hand on Dean’s neck, tilting his head.His eyes were dark, rimmed in red.He didn’t look all that different from the times when he came home and needed him…needed it…

“Hurts.Need.”John growled.Dean struggled right up until his father’s hand pushed on his chin to open his mouth.As his cock slid into his mouth, Dean went slack.Need.The only way to get past the infection was to relieve the need.All the other victims woke up when it was over…didn’t remember anything.His father would never know.

Dean could do that…it was just another injury, one more way to help. 

Dean closed his eyes though.He could do it if he didn’t have to see.He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing…on not thinking about it…about the way his father’s cock was hard and shoved into his mouth….about the gagging sounds coming from him as John’s thrusts invaded his throat.He tried to stay passive, usually when his father had needs, he left the work to Dean….this time John’s hips moved at a quick pace.

John grunted.Dean thought maybe he shouldn’t know the meaning of that sound…that it came shortly before his father came.He really shouldn’t know what his father’s dick tasted like…or how salty his come was…but he did. 

The grip on his head eased up and Dean pulled free, wiping his mouth on his jacket sleeve and climbing to his feet.His father stood there numbly.Dean took two steps and doubled over, throwing up in a pile of trash.When he stood upright again, his father hadn’t moved.Dean sighed heavily and went to tuck his father back into his pants and turn him toward the end of the alley.The car was a few blocks away.Dean fished his father’s keys out of his pocket and got them into the Impala.He knew from the victims’ statements that he had about a half an hour before his father was back to himself.Time enough to get him back to the motel and go after Steve fucking Allwood.

John sat beside him dully all the way back to the motel and it took work to get him up and out and into the room.“Okay.I’m going after the son of a bitch Dad.You…you…rest…or something…and don’t remember.”Dean muttered as his father sat heavily on the bed.

Don’t remember.He closed the bathroom door behind him and stared at himself in the mirror for a minute, wondering if he looked like a guy who had just sucked his father’s dick in an alley.

The bile rose and before he could react, he was throwing up again, turning and grabbing for the toilet.When he was done, he brushed his teeth, praying the cheap mint toothpaste would be enough to get the taste of his father out of his mouth.

It was nothing.

He could handle it.

It was nothing.

And he was going to kill the son of a bitch.Dean went back to the car, left his father sleeping sprawled across the bed and went to the address they had for Steve Allwood…not surprised to find it was empty.

Dean buried his machete into the wall and cursed the empty air.Somewhere the bastard was laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

_He doesn’t remember, just like the others, just like before…and you’re more grateful than ever that he doesn’t.  More convinced too that it isn’t him…that something’s wrong.  You just can’t figure what it is…what the cycle is, why…you tell him the thing got away and that you hit your head…that’s why there’s blood on the pillow the next day…on the floor because you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep in the bed with him…You don’t tell him he pulled a fist full of your hair out of your head when you tried to get away from him…don’t tell him you splintered around him…that you cracked and broke and before long all you’ll have left is the shell.  The incubus is gone and he’s done with_ _Alabama_ _._

September in Upstate New York.  There was a problem with some spirit released on a murderous rampage after its grave was moved.  Sam settled into the local school system with ease like always, though with less grace than usual.  Sam seemed moody, more moody than ever before. 

“Cheer up Sammy, we’re only here through Christmas.  You’ll get snow this year.”

“Maybe I don’t want snow this year.”  Sam muttered, not even looking up from his history book.

“What’s eating you?”

“Nothing.”  Sam’s feet shuffled under the table.

Dean nodded and sat in the chair opposite him, opening a book of his own.  Sam did look up then.  “You doing homework?”

“Research.”  Dean corrected.  Sam sat forward and peered into the book.

“What on?”

“Incubi.” Dean said flatly.

“Another one?”  Sam frowned.

“Same one.  At least, I think it’s the same one.”

“Where?”

Dean shook his head.  “Don’t worry about it Sammy.  I won’t let it get you and your virgin dick.”

“Jerk.”

“Doesn’t count.”

Dean couldn’t help but grin as Sam’s face scrunched up in confusion…then slowly Dean’s meaning dawned on him.  Sam threw wadded up paper at him.  Dean watched him wade through every insult in his vocabulary, and discard them all for their sexual connotations.   “Piss off,” he finally said.

After a few minutes of quiet, Dean looked up.  “Hey, Sam?”

“Hmmm?”

“Remember Boston last year?”

Sam looked up.  “Yeah?  What of it?”

“Dad’s last hunt before we left.  Do you remember what it was?”

Sam’s forehead crinkled.  “You know I don’t pay attention to that shit, Dean.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice, Sammy…real nice. If Dad was here, he’d have you on the floor doing push ups.”

“Good thing he’s not here then.”

Dean closed the book.  It was one of Pastor Jim’s, but it didn’t tell him anything more than he already knew…and it didn’t fit the pattern.  Not at all.

“Something you’re not telling me?” Sam asked and Dean shook his head.

“Do your homework.  I’ll make dinner.”

“You’ve been weird since you and Dad went to Montgomery.”  Sam said.  Dean could feel his eyes following him around.  “Well,  _weirder_  anyway.  Did something happen?”

“The bastard got away Sam.”  Dean snapped.  “That’s it.”

He didn’t look at Sam, just opened the can of beef stew and dumped it into a pot.  He’d been tense.  He wished he could forget as blithely as his father seemed to.  It was worse since Montgomery.  More frequent.  And hand jobs just weren’t enough anymore.

In fact, they’d only been in this run down house a week, and his father had come home that way twice. 

“Is something wrong with Dad?”  Sam asked and Dean’s heart sped up.

“What do you mean?”

“I woke up last night and he was standing in the doorway of our room, just staring at you.  Then you got up and were gone a long time.”

“He…needed my help with something.  Don’t worry about it.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

In fact, he had been staring and Dean had been trying to ignore him, pretend he was sleeping.  Guilt got the better of him though and he’d gotten up and dealt with his father’s issue…and brushed his teeth twice and showered before he’d crawled back into bed.   

“Hey Dean?”

“Yeah?”  Dean glanced back, hoping this was a change of topic.

“Can I ask you…never mind.”  Dean turned to face him.  Sam’s face was red.

“Ask whatever you want, Sam.”

Sam squirmed a little under Dean’s stare.  “You’ll tease me.  Forget it.”

“Spit it out.  I won’t tease.”

Sam leveled his stare at Dean, the one that plainly declared that Dean was a liar.  “What?  This about sex?”  Dean grabbed one of his father’s beers out of the fridge and cracked it open.

Sam shook his head and looked back into his book.  Dean crossed to the chair opposite him and straddled it.  “It is my sacred duty, Sam, to educate you in the ways and mysteries of sex.”

He was quiet a minute, then looked up.  “There’s a boy in my math class.”  Sam bit his lip.  He was clearly uncomfortable.  “He says he’s gay.”

Dean wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he waited for more information.  Sam sighed, clearly hoping Dean was reading his mind.  “He’s fourteen.  How does someone know?  I mean, at 14, how do you know?”

This was going to be  _that_  kind of conversation.  Dean took a big swallow of the beer.  “Well.  It’s different for everyone, Sam.  I knew a guy back in Barstow who said he knew from the time he was like 6.  Said he just never considered women.”

Sam was biting his lip.  “He’s just so sure.  And the kids pick on him.”

“And you’re not sure?” Dean asked softly.  His heart was loud enough his words didn’t need to be.  Their father should be the one having this conversation with Sam, not him.  But panic rose in his heart at that thought…at the idea of his father talking Sam about anything sexual.

Sam sort of shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I don’t…I don’t really think about it much.”

Dean blew out slowly.  “Only you can know, Sam.  No one can tell you.”

“But you know you’re straight?”

Dean got up to stir the stew.  He wasn’t sure how to answer that question.  “There’s a lot of stops on those tracks, Sam.”

“What does that mean?”

Dean shrugged.  What did it mean?  That Dean was totally straight, except for that guy in Barstow who he’d let suck his dick a few times…and the fact that he was up at night sucking his father’s cock?  “Not everyone is one or the other, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes were wide when he turned back around.  “What are you saying?”

“Not saying nothing, Squirt.”  He turned off the burner and pulled the pan off the stove.  “Just that things aren’t always as black and white as Dad sometimes makes them seem.”

“But Dad’s straight.  Totally straight, right?”

_Except for the part where he’s sticking his dick down my throat a couple of times a month, yeah_.  Dean dished up the hot stew and brought it to the table.  “You’d have to ask him that, Sam.”

Sam snorted.  “Yeah, like I could talk to him about this shit.”

“I know.”  Dean sat, cradling his bowl to him.  “I know.  But you can always talk to me, okay?  I don’t want you getting bad information.”

 

_You almost don’t make it to Christmas before he’s hauling the whole operation west, and there’s a hunting cabin in_ _Montana_ _where you turn 18.  It should be a big deal, but the day is spent tending Sam who’s sick and feverish, while he’s hunting god knows what in the wilds outside the door.  He wakes you in the middle of the night and you’re running again, before Sam’s even made his first complaint about the school.  It’s not the first time it feels like running away._

Bobby’s place was a welcome sight after three weeks on the road.  Sam had spent the whole time moping and withdrawn, upset over missing so much school.  Dean was fine with it.  School never really was his thing, and he only attended enough to keep Social Services off their backs.

John had been quiet.  Well, more quiet than normal.  Dean wonders if maybe his father’s starting to realize that something is wrong with him. 

Not that he’d admit it.  Not John Winchester.  Dean waited until Bobby’d gone to bed and Sam was asleep, waited and watched.  John just stared at the television. 

“Dad?”

John blinked and looked up.

“You okay?”

John nodded and looked back at the TV. 

“Because…you don’t seem okay.”

John sighed.  “Tired.  Long couple of weeks.”

“Sam’s birthday’s coming.  Fourteen.”

“I know how old he is, Dean.”

Dean tried a change of topics.  “So, I was looking through Bobby’s books, and I think I have a theory about that incubus.”

That got John’s attention.  He looked up, his eyes narrowed and staring.  “What?”

“I don’t think it was an incubus.  Not…like a traditional incubus.”  Dean shifted in his seat.  “There’s this old tale about a thing called an incuntabus. It infects its victims with a…venom.  The venom acts like a…drug, makes them aroused.  It only attacks men.  The arousal is very strong, strong enough to make them do anything to relieve it.  And they fixate on the first person they see.”

It had taken two days to find that much.  Dean watched his father closely.  “What about the memory loss?”  John asked, turning away.

Dean shook his head.  “Didn’t find anything on it.”

They were quiet.  “I know something happened Dean.” 

Dean froze, just as he was about to head up to bed.  “What do you mean?”

“In Montgomery.”  John didn’t look at him.  “Just…tell me I didn’t hurt anyone.”

“No, Dad.  I didn’t let you hurt anyone.” 

“You?”  John cleared his throat, and then clarified, “Did I hurt you?”

Dean shook his head.  Swallowed the sudden lump of fear…the memories of all the nights since then...yes, yes…it hurt…it was wrong and some nights it hurt…and some days when it was over he couldn’t think, could only go through the motions…  “No, Dad.  You didn’t hurt me either.  I’m…going to bed.”

Dean left quickly, before it could get any worse.  Sam was asleep in the queen size bed they shared whenever they were at Bobby’s.  Dean shucked his jeans and shirt and crawled into bed with his brother.  Sam rolled toward him, seeking the warmth of his big brother just as if they were both still little.  Dean settled an arm over Sam, drawing him close and kissing his forehead.

“Dean?”  Sam’s eyes didn’t open, and his voice was sleep-filled.  Dean wasn’t even sure he was awake.

“Sleep.”

Sam nodded.  He tilted his head and brushed a light kiss over Dean’s mouth.  Dean froze.  Sam rolled over onto his other side, leaving Dean essentially spooned behind him.  Dean shivered and pulled the sheet up to cover them both.  He’d imagined it, it was an accident.

Because…Dean shook his head and forced his head down onto the pillow. 

He wasn’t going to think about it.  Or acknowledge it. 

It took a long time to sleep though.  Somewhere near dawn he heard Sam get up and get dressed, probably off to study or something.  When the bed was empty, Dean stretched out and finally fell asleep.

John was very obviously uncomfortable, and he and Sam fought at least once a day.  Dean found himself out in Bobby’s yard, fussing with the car every chance he got.  Seven days in, John found a hunt and he took off in the late afternoon.  Sam’s birthday.

Sam didn’t react.  He just watched their father drive off and shrugged before wandering off into the wilds of Bobby’s yard.  Dean followed after a few minutes.  It was his job to ease the pain.  To be the surrogate father. 

“So…fourteen.”  Dean said as he approached Sam in a sort of half circle formed by junked out old cars.

“It’s not a big deal, Dean.”

“Sure it is.  Look at you.”  Sam was nearly as tall as Dean now.  Couple inches away.  If it weren’t for his baby face, he’d pass for 20, easy. 

Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Dad…he…just…”

“Don’t Dean.  Stop making excuses.  Okay?”

“Yeah.  Okay.”  Dean wasn’t sure what to say, or do.  They were going to miss the end of the school year completely and Sam wasn’t happy about it. 

“I don’t need him anyway.”  Sam said, turning to face Dean.  “It’s not like he’s ever really been here.  I’ve got you for that.”

Something in the way he said the words made Dean stiffen.  “Sam, you know he loves you.  He’s just…”

“Obsessed.  With the hunt.  I know.”  Sam was standing close, almost too close. Dean smiled and put his hands on Sam’s shoulders. 

“What do you say we head into town and catch a movie or something?” 

Of course, the local movie theater was only two screens, showing chick flicks even Sam wasn’t willing to be seen walking into, so Dean busted out his fake id and bought a six-pack and drove Sam down to a swimming hole Bobby’d told him about the summer before.

“You’re gift to me, on my fourteenth birthday, is to get me drunk?”  Sam asked incredulously as Dean sat on the hood of the Impala and cracked open two of the beers.

“I’d get you laid too, Sammy, but I’m a little tight on money right now.”

Sam rolled his eyes and took the offered beer.  He sipped at it, made a face and took a few steps away.  “Does it bother you at all?”

“What?”

Sam looked back at him and Dean thought that in that one look he seemed far older than fourteen.  “That you won’t graduate?”

Dean swallowed a good amount of beer and shook his head, though Sam had already turned back toward the water.  “Nah.  School was never my thing, Sam.”

“You could have been good at it.  You’re smart enough.”

“Maybe too smart for my own good.”  Dean said.

“Is that why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you do whatever he says?”

Normally, that kind of question would anger him. Dean took a swig of his beer and actually gave it thought.  “I do what he says because he’s Dad.  And he needs something in his life that isn’t trying to kill him or fight him or possess him.  He needs someone who’s going to be there and take care of him.”

“What about you?”  Sam turned to face him, his cheeks already rosy from the beer, though his was only about half gone.

“Me?”

“Who takes care of you?”

Dean felt a sudden rush of emotion that he hid under drinking.  Sam couldn’t know.  Wouldn’t ever know.  He didn’t need to be taken care of…didn’t need…“I’m fine, Sam.  Don’t need someone to take care of me.”

Sam nodded, but didn’t look convinced.  “Drink your beer Sam.  I’m not taking you back to Bobby’s until you get two of them into you.”

Sam chuckled and lifted his bottle.  “Oh yeah, Happy Birthday to me, eh Dean?”

“Damn straight, pipsqueak.”

 

_You figured you were safe at Bobby’s…that it couldn’t happen there, but you wake to the sound of your father’s truck, to the feeling…the impending need that reaches you even before you hear the truck door and you slide out of bed and down the hall, praying you’re wrong…but he’s waiting for you by the truck…waiting because he knew you’d come.  And he smells of whiskey and cigarettes and his jeans are wet with come, but it’s done nothing to alleviate his need._

The scent of sex was strong as his hand curled around the back of Dean’s neck and Dean’s fingers fumbled with his zipper.  “Calm down, Dad…I’m right here.  I’ve got you.”  Dean whispered, as if his father actually heard anything he said on nights like this.  “I’ve got you.”

He growled and shoved forward before Dean was ready.  Dean’s hands grabbed his father’s hips, forcing him back against the side of the truck while he settled into position on one knee in the gravel, his hand curling around the base of John’s dick to hold him.

Dean’s eyes closed and he disconnected, repeated the mantra in his head:   _This is nothing. Nothing._

Since Montgomery hand jobs weren’t enough.  Since Montgomery, John was only passive half the time.  The rest of the time it’s like this, with Dean fighting at first to be in control, then slowly letting go, giving in, taking whatever it is his father needs to dish out.  

Big hands tightened in his short hair, tilting his head back so that John’s cock could invade his throat.  Dean gagged, but held on.  It would be over soon.  It was always over soon.  And in the morning they would pretend it never happened.

Dean would pretend.  As long as John didn’t remember, Dean could pretend.

“Dean.”  It was a growl…a barely understood recognition.  Dean choked and pulled back, shaking his head.  No.  He heard wrong.  “Need.”  John’s hands were pulling him forward again, his cock heavy against Dean’s lips.  “Dean.”

He looked up.  His father’s face was dark, slack.  His eyes closed as he tossed his head back and shoved in that much harder.  Dean’s whole body was flushed with embarrassment…with shame…and…something else.

He yelled out as his father came in his mouth, stumbling backwards, Dean’s hands cradling a hardness he wasn’t ready to admit to.  He had never…not like that…not with him…He turned over in the gravel, spitting come out into the stones.  By the time he was done, his father was gone…into the house…out into the yard…he didn’t really care.

He climbed to his feet and dragged himself to the bathroom, climbing into a cold shower.  The cold did nothing for his cock though, and after a few minutes he wrapped his hand around it and gave up trying.  He thought of Jackie Marren, the cheerleader at their last school…and he stroked…but it wasn’t helping…He flashed on the feeling of his father’s cock in his throat and shook it off.

Darla…what’s her name…the blond with the 44DDs…Marilu, the red head with dimples…Dean cried out in frustration and pain as his dick just refused to cooperate.  Then another image came to mind…sun-kissed brown hair and sparkling green eyes…and fuck…but he was coming in jets washed away by cold water…left shivering from more than just the cold.

He was still chattering when he crawled into bed beside his brother, in sweats and a t-shirt, despite the nearly ninety degrees.  It only took seconds for Sam to roll toward him, spooning up behind him and drawing the blanket up and over them both.

“I got you.” Sam whispered, his hands rubbing warmth into Dean’s skin.

Right at that moment, Dean hated himself…for sinking in to the heat that Sam offered, for succumbing to the evil eating his father alive…for not knowing how to end this whole sordid nightmare…

 

_You’ve tried everything…holy water in his beer, sigils on his door.  Whatever this is it isn’t a demon…not even the incubus or incuntabus or whatever the hell got away.  It’s time to ask for help.  Or it would be if you could even consider someone in your life to trust with the questions.  So when your father suggests that Sam hang out with Pastor Jim while the two of you hunt in August, you volunteer to drive him down._

The nerves hit an hour out, knowing that the time was short and Sam was always clingy when he knew Dean was leaving him alone.  Not that time with Pastor Jim was alone.  Sam would have time to read and study and whatever else it was Sam did, where Dean didn’t have to worry about him.

Jim was waiting for them as they pulled in.

“Hey boys?  Good drive?”

“More or less.”  Dean said, opening the trunk for Sam to get his bag.  “Dad says thanks.”

“You boys are welcome here anytime.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”  Sam growled, storming past Jim and around the church to the parish house.

“He’s a little miffed.  He had a disagreement with a poltergeist last week and he hasn’t gotten past it.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”  Jim said.  “You running off, or do you have time for a drink?”

“Actually, I was hoping to pick your brain.”  Dean licked his lips and tried to pretend he wasn’t as nervous as he was.

“Why don’t you come in, I’ll make coffee.”

 

“So, you’re saying that this thing comes and goes?”

Dean nodded.  “I’m not sure of all the details, needless to say, the kid was pretty embarrassed.”

Pastor Jim nodded.  “And you say it’s escalating?”

Again Dean nodded, lifting his cup of coffee.  “At first I was convinced it was our incuntabus.”

“The thing you went after in Montgomery?”

“Yeah.”  Dean’s ring clanked against the ceramic cup and he put it down, wiping sweaty hands against his jeans.  “But that thing attacks and once the victim has burned through the venom, it’s over.  This keeps coming back…sometimes with no clear provocation.”

Dean wanted to pace, but was sure that any motion would give his secret away. 

“How is this boy dealing with this?”

Dean inhaled sharply.  He hadn’t expected that question.  “I…don’t know.  It’s not like I was going to ask him, you know?”  He went back to cradling his coffee cup.  This may have been a bad idea.  “He’s okay, I think.  He just wants to know how to end it.”

Jim nodded slowly, his eyes on the table.  “Is there anything else I should know?”

“No…that’s all the information I have.”

“Well, it doesn’t ring any bells right now, but I can do some digging.”

“I’d appreciate that.  I’ve exhausted the research material I have, and everything at Bobby’s.”

They were quiet for a minute before Dean felt Jim’s eyes on him.  “What about you, Dean?  How are you doing?”

Dean forced himself to smile, tossed off the last of his coffee.  “Never better, Pastor Jim.  Never better.  I should hit the road though.  Dad’s expecting me.  I’ll be back for Sam in a couple of weeks.”

Jim smiled and stood.  “You’re always welcome here Dean.”  He held out his hand and Dean took it, surprised when Jim used it to leverage him into a hug.  “I mean that.”

“Thanks.”  Dean stepped back and looked at him, his heart pounding.  If Jim knew that Dean had been talking about himself, it didn’t show in his face.  “Tell Sasquach I said goodbye.”


	3. Chapter 3

_August is a blur of hunts and sleepless nights in the Impala and shitty motels.  Together you take down a black dog and a goblin and more ghosts than you can count.  You expected it to get bad with just the two of you…expected it to happen…and you don’t understand why it doesn’t…almost miss it…almost...and that turns your stomach more than the taste of his cock.  You’re somewhere in Virginia near the end of the month after a long, hard hunt when you start to finally relax and stop waiting for it._

The bar wasn’t crowded, though there’s enough of a crowd that Dean set up shop at one of the pool tables to hustle and get them a little cash.  His father wandered to the bar, quiet since the last of the damn little shits had slammed him into the wall.

Dean ignored him once his father started ordering whiskey neat.  It was how he dealt.  Dean dealt by taking money from strangers and finding a pretty girl to fuck in the back seat of his car or for the truly eager, some dark alley.  He was up by nearly two hundred dollars, and was flirting with his chosen conquest, when he saw his father lurch off of his stool.

He tracked him until he disappeared into the hallway to the bathrooms, then went back to charming the pretty blonde whose name he’d already forgotten.  She was looking for the same thing he was, and he leaned in, stealing a kiss to see how much more work he was going to have to do.

Her mouth opened easily and her hand slid between them, palming his cock through his jeans.  “Want to go outside?” she whispered and he nodded, reaching to drink the last of his beer before letting her take his hand and lead him outside.

“My car—“

“No…alley.”  She pulled him around the corner of the bar, pulled him to her.  The alley was dark, but mostly clean.  There were shadows toward the other end, where a light showed the outline of a door into the bar.

“Someone will see.”  Dean hissed as she guided his hand under her skirt.

“No one will care,” she whispered back, ending on a groan as Dean slid a finger inside her. 

She was hot and wet and ready and Dean didn’t waste time getting his fly undone and his cock out, sliding into her and pressing her against the wall.  She groaned and arched against him.

There was a deeper, echoing groan from the other end of the alley and Dean stopped mid stroke to look that way.  “Don’t stop baby.”  Her hands were on his face, turning him to look at her.  She wiggled on him, and he smiled, kissed her and settled back into his rhythm. 

He moved one hand between them to work her clit…get her off…make it good.  She moaned and writhed and squeezed his dick inside her.  He came quickly and she slid off him.  There was another groan from the other end of the alley.  It was familiar.  “Let them be…just another couple of people who need to get it on.”  She pulled on his hand.  “I’ll buy you a beer.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” 

He didn’t see her leave, and he moved cautiously through the dark until he found them.  He stared, not believing what he was seeing.  He wanted to stop it…stop him….them….He wanted to walk away, pretend he didn’t see…then his father’s head turned and those blank, dark eyes caught on Dean.  “Need,” he growled, as his hips snapped forward, burying his dick into the ass of the kid between him and the wall. 

He was an inch or two shorter than Dean, same hair, same wiry body.  His jeans were around his knees and he was pulling frantically at his own cock.  “Need it too…harder,” he said.

John’s eyes were on Dean though as he fucked into the stranger and Dean felt his body clench at the sight.  He should leave.  Turn around.  Go back to the blonde, to the beer.  “Dean.”

Dean shook his head and took a step closer.  He didn’t know what he was supposed to do.  The kid looked up. “Do you mind dude?”

“Just…here to help.” Dean breathed, his eyes on his father’s face.

“No offense, dude, but we’re doing fine.”

Dean nodded, but didn’t stop moving closer.  His eyes were locked on his father’s, even as he pushed the kid’s shoulders up, getting between him and the wall.  “I’m right here.  I’ve got you.”  His hand moved to circle the kid’s cock, jacking him in time to his father’s thrusting.  “That’s it.  It’s okay…I’m right here.”

John’s breathing changed, hitched and held and then came the tell tale grunt. Dean closed his eyes, felt his father’s body shove the kid into him, pulled harder on the cock in his hand.  The kid groaned and came, even as John was stumbling backwards, his dick still hard, his hand cradling it was if it hurt.

“Get lost.” Dean said to the kid as he pulled his pants up.  “You okay Dad?” he asked after the kid was gone. John’s eyes were still dark, his face slack, only his cock showed the distress Dean felt.  He took a few steps closer.  “Let’s get you back to the motel…get you cleaned up.”

John came more compliantly than Dean had expected, followed Dean across the parking lot and into their room.  Dean locked the door, then turned to his father.  He didn’t want to think.  He just wanted…no, he didn’t want to want anything either.  “Shower,” he said abruptly.  His father needed to wash that boy off of him, get clean.  “I’ll start the water, Dad.”

When he came back out of the bathroom, his father was still standing where he’d left him.  Dean was gentle as he peeled his clothes off of him.  “Come on Dad.  Help me out here.” 

John made no move to help Dean or to seek relief for the obviously painful erection.  Dean guided him into the bathroom and helped him into the shower.  “Dean.”

“Yeah…okay…give me a minute.”

He stripped out of his own clothes and joined his father in the shower.  “Just relax, okay?”  Dean let his hand close around his father and started to jack him off.  John sighed, then laid his head on Dean’s shoulder.  “That’s it…it’s okay.  Let me take care of it.  Let me take care of you.”

His father shuddered when he came, and Dean turned them enough to wash all the evidence away.  “Okay…let’s get you to bed.”  Dean turned off the water and reached for a towel to wrap around his father before doing the same for himself.  Now that his father had relieved his need, he was soft and pliant and Dean settled him into bed before digging out sweats and getting into them.

He got the lights and crawled into the second bed.  He thought he heard two words whispered into the night air as his father rolled over, turning his back to Dean.

_I’m sorry._

“I know.” Dean said even softer, rolling over himself.  “I know you are.”

__Sam seems glad to see you when you come back to get him, but Jim’s face is grim when you ask if he found anything.  There’s a little information about a hunt that went really wrong a few years back, in_ _Tulsa_ _, when the blood of an incubus was swallowed by the hunter that took it down.  It doesn’t really fit the same set of symptoms, but it’s close…close enough that you ask how the hunter handled it.  Then wished he hadn’t.  You promise him you’ll deal with it and hustle Sam out to the car.  It’s a promise you can’t keep the way Pastor Jim expects you to…and your heart fractures just a little more as you drive away…There’s a new school year coming and Dad’s setting up house in_ _Georgia_ _, waiting on you._ _

Georgia melted into Florida around Dean’s birthday.  Sam was even more secretive than before, picking fights with their father, insisting he get his own room, hanging out with a mix of geeks and jocks and staying out past curfew more than even Dean could cover for. 

All in all, Dean thought he’d kept it together pretty well.  He dealt with Sam’s need for privacy and his father’s need for…well, his father’s needs…and never let the two crash into one another.  Neither John nor Sam had any clue what happened on those nights when his father stumbled home and Dean took care of him.  And Dean…he just locked it away…because the alternative was unacceptable. 

 “Dean.”  His father’s voice startled him as he came in from his run.

“Dad.  Didn’t expect you.”

John nodded.  “Sit down.  We need to talk.”

Dean’s heart raced.  Anything from his father that started that way couldn’t end good.  “What’s up?”  He filled a glass with water and sat opposite his father at the table.

“I’m worried about Sam.”

Dean frowned.  He hadn’t expected that.  “What about?”

“He’s not a boy any more.”

“No, he’s not.  He’s fifteen.  You remember me at fifteen?”

John smiled and lowered his eyes.  “I never had to worry about you, Dean.  Sam…he…fights everything.”

“He’s a lot like you.  Stubborn.”

“Does he talk to you?”

“Bout what?”

“You know…life things…stuff he wouldn’t talk about with me.”

“Yeah, Dad.  I keep him straight on the important stuff.”

John nodded.  “I need to ask you something else.”

Dean downed his water.  “Shoot.”

“I found a pair of jeans on my bedroom floor yesterday, Dean.  They were bloody and…there was…other stuff…on them. “

Dean froze.  Licked his lips.  “You came home with blood on you the other night.  Don’t you remember?”  He kicked himself mentally.  Of course he didn’t remember.  It was one of those nights.  “Said it was the other guy’s blood.”

“I don’t remember.  Was I hunting?”

Dean frowned and pushed his chair back.  “Not sure, you didn’t say.  You weren’t hurt…so you just went to bed.” After I sucked your dick for you and sent you to your room so I could beat off alone.

“I don’t remember a lot lately.”  John said absently, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard.  Ever since Montgomery.  Maybe you need a break.”

He knew the minute he said it that bringing up Montgomery was a bad idea.  His father’s eyes narrowed.  “Tell me what happened in Montgomery, Dean.”

Dean shook his head and backed off.  “Nothing, Dad…the damn thing got to you, but I got you back to the motel. It wore off after a while.  Look.  I gotta go get Sam.”

“Dean—“

Dean stopped in the doorway.  “I promise Dad…I took care of you.  Just like I always do.”


	4. Chapter 4

_You start to avoid him when he’s normal…because you can’t stand the lying.  You don’t know how to make it easier, on any of you….and you think maybe he’s starting to remember, to know…but he never says anything. Sam finishes the year and the three of you head out, chasing rumors of something that sounds like the incuntubus bastard that got away.  Together, the three of you corner it in an alley in Chicago and Sam gets to do the honors, cutting the damn thing’s head off.  To celebrate, you get him a bottle of Tequila and wait for your father to head off to the bar before you break it out._

“If I didn’t know better, Dean, I’d think you were trying to get laid.”  Sam said as he took the shot glass.

“Your scrawny ass?  I don’t think so.”  Dean said before tipping his glass back and swallowing the amber heat.

Sam coughed as his burned down his throat.  “You’re always trying to get me drunk.”

“Not drunk, Sammy, just…pleasantly buzzed.”  He poured a second shot for each of them and waited until Sam had downed his before adding.  “Getting laid will have to wait until we get your fake id tomorrow.”

“Dean!”

“What?  I told you…my sacred duty.”

“I don’t need your help to get laid, Dean.”  It was Sam who poured the next shot.

“Oh?”

“Shut up and drink.”

“Keeping secrets from me Sammy?”  Dean downed his shot and held out his glass.

“I’m the little brother, that’s  **my**  sacred duty.”  Sam said.  His words were starting to slur and his eyes were droopy.

“Okay, little brother, enough of the celebration.  Let’s get you up to bed.”

Dean peeled the bottle out of Sam’s hand and set it on the coffee table.  “Don’ wanna.”  Sam whined, though he came up off the couch with little effort. 

“No?  What is it you do want?”

“You.”  Sam pouted, then laid his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“You got me, Sammy.  I’m right here.”  Dean got them turned around and headed up the stairs.

“Wan’ you Dean…wan’ you to make it all okay.”

“What isn’t okay, Sam?”  Dean maneuvered them to Sam’s bed, lowering Sam down, but Sam’s arms were around Dean’s neck and he wasn’t letting go.   “God, you’re a sloppy drunk, Sam.”

“Me…I’m not okay, Dean.”

Dean pried Sam’s hands loose and moved to put his legs up on the bed, pausing to pull his shoes off.  He sat beside Sam on the bed and brushed the hair out of his eyes.  “You’re better than okay, Sammy.  You killed that thing tonight, like a real pro.”

“Dean.”  It was a prolonged whine that reminded Dean of Sam at 8 who couldn’t say anything without whining.

“What Sam?”

“My head hurts.  Kiss it better?”

Dean rolled his eyes and leaned forward, brushing his lips lightly over the bruise on his brother’s forehead. “Better.”

Sam’s eyes were closed, and he arched up, his lips pressing against Dean’s cheek.  “Kiss it better?”  Dean closed his eyes as Sam’s lips found his…soft…the tang of tequila and the warm, sweet taste of Sam…then he pulled away.

“Sam…you’re…drunk.  Go to sleep.”

“Stay with me.”

“No.”  Dean stood up and moved away.  “I have to go clean up.  Dad will be home…he’ll be pissed.”

Sam whined, but Dean turned on his heel and left him in their room.  He went straight to the bottle of tequila, forgoing the shot glass all together and swallowing, hoping it would burn away the taste of Sam…but it was all mixed up with the tequila on Sam’s breath and all the alcohol in the world wasn’t going to help.

Just like it wouldn’t help him forget the way his father tasted.  And fuck.  Just fuck.  Dean sat hard on the couch. He wanted to go out and find the nearest piece of pussy and fuck it…hard…repeatedly…until he couldn’t get it up any more.    He was hard even before he heard the sound of his father’s truck.

By the time John came in the door, Dean knew it was going to be bad.  Not only was it one of those nights, but John was drunk on top of it…and for that matter, so was Dean.  Drunk enough that he stood up when his father came to him.  “No.  Not tonight.”  He pushed past John, but John grabbed his arm, pulled him back.

“Need.”

Dean pulled away, swiping the bottle of tequila and headed into the kitchen.  “No. Dad.  It’s over.  I’m not doing it anymore.”

John’s big hand pushed Dean face first onto the table.  “Fuck.”

“Need.”  John’s free hand was at his zipper.  Dean knew the sound all too well.  He bucked up, but his father’s large hand held him.

“No…not like this…God…Dad….stop.”

This was wrong…this was…not happening.  Dean bucked again, swinging out with his foot and catching John’s knee.  He let go, backed off a little, though his hand was still on Dean’s neck.  “Fuck…Dad.  Okay…just let me up, okay…let me help…” 

He managed to turn around, drop to his knees.  His father’s cock was already oozing.  “It’s okay Dad…it’s okay. I’m here.  I’m right here.”

He opened his mouth and John shoved into him, harder than usual…not letting Dean do his job, just taking what he needed.  “Fuck.  Need.”  John grunted and Dean did his best to just hold on and take whatever his father needed to give him.  His own cock hurt and he found himself unzipping his jeans and sliding a hand in to cup his cock. 

“Dean.”  His father came and Dean couldn’t help but swallow with his cock so far inside his mouth. When he was done, he stumbled away, grabbing the bottle of tequila Dean had left on the table and going out to the porch.

Dean wiped his face and got up.  The combination of come and alcohol in his stomach was sickening and hot. He couldn’t bring himself to shower, or even throw up, he just crawled up the stairs and stripped out of his jeans before crawling into bed.  He curled up around his hard on, his back to his brother in the other bed.

He wasn’t crying…because Winchester’s don’t cry.  But fuck, his father had nearly…and…Winchester’s don’t do that either…and worse, he was hard  **because**  his father had…had what?  Fucked his mouth like he was a two dollar whore?  Dean groaned and slowly stroked his cock.  He couldn’t come from that…couldn’t be hard from his brother’s kiss and his father’s cock…but he was…he was…and he couldn’t fucking come.

He didn’t feel the movement at first, the dip of the bed, the shifting of his sheet…but then Sam was there behind him, his big body curling around Dean’s, spooning against him…his hand sliding over Dean’s hip to circle the tent of his boxers.  Dean started, pulled away, but Sam followed, his face near Dean’s ear.  “Shh…it’s okay….let me help, Dean.  Let me take care of it.”

And his lips were hot on the skin of Dean’s neck, his fingers strong, sure as they moved over the cotton, pushing Dean’s hand away.  “Sam…”  Dean’s warning sounded more like begging and he couldn’t stop the jerking motion of his hips if he’d tried…but he couldn’t try…he gasped for air and fought the orgasm Sam’s hand was bringing him to until his drunk brain couldn’t remember why that was important and he came hard, doubling forward. 

Sam’s strokes slowed and his hand slipped back to Dean’s hip.  His lips kissed over Dean’s shoulder.  “Shh…sleep….its okay, Dean.  I’ve got you.”

 

_In the morning, Sam’s in his own bed, and you’d think you dreamed the whole thing, but there’s come dried in your shorts when you slink down to the bathroom to shower.  You look in the mirror and all you can see is how fucked you are.  You want to think you’re in control…but it’s pretty fucking obvious that isn’t true.  It’s bad enough that you can’t find a way out of the thing with your father, now you’re dragging your baby brother into it, letting him touch you…and liking it…_

The next time it happened, Dean didn’t fight, just closed his eyes and opened his mouth and did his duty.  John collapsed into the broken down chair and Dean followed.  John’s hand fell on the back of Dean’s head as he bobbed up and down over his cock.  He was moaning and his hips moved, but as much as Dean tried, he wasn’t coming.  His cock just looked angrier and more swollen than when he’d started.

Dean sat back and stared into John’s dark eyes.  “I don’t know what else to do.”  He reached for his father’s cock with his hands and John grunted.  “Okay.  Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Dean was partially hard as he ran up the stairs to the room he shared with Sam, checking to be sure Sam was asleep, then pulling a bottle of lotion out of the drawer.  It usually helped when he was having a hard time.

His father hadn’t moved.  Dean exhaled slowly and sank to one knee before squirting a generous amount of lotion into his hand.  He rubbed his hands together to warm it through then reached for John.  His cock slid through his hands easily on the lotion and Dean tightened his grip as John started thrusting again.  “Need. Harder.”

Dean nodded and pulled harder.  “Dean, need more.” 

His eyes were closed, his teeth bared.  “I know Dad…I know…”  But Dean didn’t have more…couldn’t do more…Because he was at his limit…because more would mean…he wasn’t sure…but he didn’t want to think about it.  He just wanted it to be done so he could shower and crawl into bed.

“Dean.” The name was filled with dark desire and need and Dean couldn’t help but turn away from it.

“Dad, please…just….finish…”

“Dean…need.”

Dean knew what he needed, what he wanted, but he wasn’t ready for that…couldn’t just give him that.  It wasn’t even that it was wrong…everything about his life was wrong and he knew it…Dean pulled away, stood up, pacing.  “I can’t.”  He couldn’t give it…but if his father wanted it…if his father took it…

He never heard his father move, just felt him, behind, pushing until Dean’s face was in the wall, and Dean gave a half-hearted attempt to push him away, but he just didn’t have the strength to fight what he’d known was coming all along…his father’s hand pulled his sweats down and Dean closed his eyes, bracing for the pain.

At first it wasn’t pain…it was pressure…the blunt head of his father’s cock pressed against him, and Dean was grateful for the lotion as “pressed against” became “pressed into” and Dean bit into his arm to keep from yelling.

It seemed to take forever, that first slow push…and a low growl sounded from John’s throat through the whole thing.  Dean held his breath, squeezed his eyes shut, tried to imagine this was something else…that this wasn’t happening…that he was safe in his own bed, with the hunting knife under the pillow…

It didn’t take long, three, maybe four slow thrusts and Dean felt something hot deep inside him.  He didn’t move as his father backed away, stumbling off to his bedroom to sleep it off.  He didn’t move, even after he heard his father’s door close…it wasn’t until he could feel it…it…his father’s come, oozing out of him that he bent slowly to pull up his sweats.

He moved slowly, his ass stretched and hurting, oozing…into the bathroom where he turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it and stood under it for a long time, just letting the spray wash the dirty feeling from his skin.  As the water started to cool, he turned and delicately spread his ass cheeks, letting the water wash away the cooled come…erasing the evidence…so he could pretend.

He crawled up the stairs, exhausted, disgusted, hurting.  He stood between the beds for a long time, then slipped in beside Sam, relishing the way his brother rolled into him, drawing him close with long arms that held him.  He’d never needed this…the comfort of this…it had always been his gift to Sam…now though…Dean pulled Sam’s arms closer around him and closed his eyes. 

 

_You can’t blame him.  You know how to end it.  And you know you never will.  Never.  Because the only solution you’ve found is one you won’t accept.  You have a choice, and you’ve made it.  You do this…you do this or you kill him.  That’s it.  That’s all.  And it isn’t like it happens every night.  Not even every week.  Sometimes it’s months between…You only wish things with Sam were as cut and dry…but Sam…he’s nothing like your father…_

The apartment in Chicago suited John fine for the start of the new school year.  It was close enough to other stuff that he could do day runs for hunts, and with Sam’s proven prowess on the hunt, he was more comfortable with leaving him home alone, sending Dean out on solo hunts for simple things and bringing him along for bigger ones.

Dean got home from a poltergeist in southern Illinois and the apartment was empty.  That suited him fine.  He was sore and achy from the hunt and wanted a long, hot bath.  It had been a fairly simple hunt, but he’d never understand why spirits felt the need to slam him into every wall they could find. 

He eased into the water, hissing as the heat seeped into his ass, still sore from the night before he’d left on the hunt, when his father’s needs had been…nearly violent.  He’d slept on the couch after, unable to move enough to get upstairs.  He’d jacked off there on the couch, imagining it was Sam’s hand on him, and he’d come with Sam’s name on his lips.

Dean shook his head and settled deeper into the hot water, letting it pull the fatigue from his muscles.  He had to end this thing with Sam.  It was all kinds of wrong.  The kid was confused and Dean wasn’t helping…but every time Sam touched him, Dean gave in to his whispers of “it’s okay” and “let me help”…He closed his eyes, his hand moving now to his cock.  It was hard.

He stroked it lazily, almost gently…just enjoying the feeling of his arousal, and trying to focus his mind on something other than his father or brother…but it kept coming back to Sam’s hand on his…Sam’s fingers circling his cock…Sam’s thumb glazing over the tip.

Slowly, Dean let himself relax, let the fantasy fill him…until it was almost too real.

“Shh…easy…I’ve got you.”  Sam’s voice floated to him and Dean opened his eyes, starting when he found Sam on one knee by the tub, his hand closed over Dean’s.

“Sam…shit.  Stop.”  Dean jerked away, splashing water everywhere.  The look on Sam’s face was confused, but he pulled his hand away.

“You said my name.”  Sam said as he stood.  “I thought…”

Dean shook his head, pulling the plug on the tub and reaching for a towel as he stood up.  “No…Sam…I…”  But he didn’t know what to say or how to say it.   “You shouldn’t…I shouldn’t…it’s…wrong…okay?”

Sam shook his head.  “Why?  Why is it wrong Dean?”

“Sam…we’re brothers, okay?  It’s just…and you’re…you’re only fifteen…and it’s wrong.”

“How old were you?”

“What?”

Sam turned to look at him, his green eyes blazing.  “How old were you when it started?”

“When what started?”  Dean couldn’t look away, not with that look in Sam’s eyes…the one that told Dean that Sam knew way more than he’d ever dreamed.

“You…helping Dad…” Sam said, almost as if he didn’t really want to say it.  As if not saying it was somehow protecting Dean.

“Sam…you don’t know what you’re saying.”  Dean reached for him, but Sam pulled away.

“I do.  I hear you.  I see it in your face, when you send me to bed and wait up for him to come home.”  Sam was as tall as Dean now, eye-to-eye as he stepped closer.  “I hear you with him.  I hear you tell him it’s okay…to let you help him.”

Sam was up close in Dean’s face, his lips just a breath away.  Dean didn’t move, didn’t breathe…just stood there as Sam took that breath away, his dry lips pressing to Dean’s damp ones, his tongue licking lightly until Dean’s lips parted almost as if he didn’t control them.

“Is it okay, Dean?”

Sam’s hand pushed at the towel, then slowly re-wrapped itself around his cock, then Sam deepened his kiss. His free hand slithered up Dean’s body to the back of his neck, tilting his head as his mouth claimed more of Dean’s.

Dean groaned, his cock sliding through Sam’s fingers.  Warning bells and danger signs flared in his head, but his body was sluggish and unresponsive to the fear, clinging instead to the relief Sam held in the circle of his hand.

“It’s okay…” Sam whispered as he ended the kiss.  “Let me…I want it…I want you…”

“Jesus…Sam…” Dean fell toward him, fell until his lips found his brother’s, opening and devouring everything Sam offered as his hips stuttered and his body tightened and he came.

“See?”  Sam whispered.  “It’s okay.”

“No…Sam, it isn’t.” Dean whispered back, whispered into the flesh of his brother’s neck.  It wasn’t okay…it hadn’t been okay for so long…Dean could feel himself trembling, feel the shaking that started in his stomach. Sam knew…and Sam…

“Shh…I’ll take care of you…”  Sam soothed him, gentle hands over his head, gentle kisses along his forehead. He was vaguely aware they were moving…out of the bathroom…toward the bedroom…then Sam was holding his head, cradling it and encouraging Dean to lay down.  “Get some sleep.  I’ll make dinner.”

With a kiss, tender and chaste, on his lips, Sam was gone.  Dean wanted to call him back, to tell him this couldn’t happen…that none of this was supposed to happen…but his lips tingled from that last kiss, and his body was still sluggish and sated and sleep sounded like the better plan.

 

_You keep thinking you should talk about it.  But you don’t.  You exist between them…between your father’s taking and your brother’s giving…until you’re not sure anymore where the lines are…or if there’s even anything left of yourself outside them…outside this…You tell yourself it’s just masturbation…so what if it’s Sam’s hand instead of yours?  And you remember thinking the same thing when it was your father’s dick and your hand. You remember even though you’ve tried to forget.  And you think by now he should know.  It makes you angry the ease with which he denies the memory loss, the haunted way he watches you, but says nothing.  You think he probably suspects, and can’t face it…and that cuts deeper and harder than any wound you ever got on a hunt.  So who can blame you for taking comfort where it’s given?_

Christmas Eve saw the end of Chicago and by the start of the second term, they were living out of a two-bedroom shack on a ranch in New Mexico, where the owners gave Dean a fair salary to do some physical labor and John picked up a few bucks making antique motors run again.

Dean wasn’t fond of the work, but it paid well and put a roof over their heads…and there were interesting hunts in the area.  It was quiet at night and they could go days without seeing other people, except when Dean dropped Sam off at the bus stop into town for school.

He took a job a few hours north, an angry spirit with a penchant for young girls…and when he came back it was nearly one in the morning.  His father was on the porch.  There was a glow of a cigarette, but John didn’t move. Dean sighed and stared and waited. 

He was tired, dirty from the grave digging, and he didn’t have the strength to do this.  He wondered what his father would do if he just pulled out and drove away.  His eyes drifted up to the bedroom window…where Sam was waiting…where Sam was sleeping, unaware…or so he hoped.  Dean looked back at his father.  He’d go to Sam.  The hunger needed to be fed.  He’d fixated on Dean that first night…and only Dean could relieve the need…but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to find it with another…the boy at the bar proved that.

With a heavy sigh, Dean leaned over and popped the glove box, pulling out a plain brown bag.  He’d bought it days before, knowing it was coming soon and the lotion was gone.  He opened the car door and got out, surprised when his father was right there.

He wanted to go inside, but John stood in his way and the look on his face told Dean they were doing this here. In plain view of the window…in front of God and anyone else out wandering this far from the main house at this hour.

Dean nodded and started unbuttoning his jeans, then reached in the bag for the bottle of lube.  He didn’t say anything.  He’d run out of words for this…he just opened his father’s jeans, slicked up his cock and pulled his own jeans down.  John pushed him forward, pressed his face to the hot hood of the Impala and shoved inside him.

The metal under him burned against his skin, against the cotton t-shirt and his fingers scrambled to find purchase on the slick surface, something to hold onto as his father grunted.  There was a vague movement and Dean turned his face.  A dark silhouette filled the bedroom window.  Dean groaned as his cock filled and hardened, the idea of Sam seeing this somehow making it something more than it had been before.

Dean pushed back against John’s thrust, making him growl, shifting the angle just enough that it found his prostate and Dean jumped. John pushed on his back, pushing him down against the car, bumping Dean’s cock into the grill.  He saw stars; coming seconds before his father did, painting the grill of the Impala with strings of stickiness.

He felt old when it was over and his father had wandered off in the dark with his cigarette.  Old and stretched out.  He went inside, found his way to the shower and crawled up to bed, surprised that Sam was snoring in his bed.   Obviously the show hadn’t affected Sam the same way it did him.

The old lumpy mattress was comfortable enough in his state and it didn’t take long for sleep to claim him.  He dreamed of killing his father…of all the ways he could…of all the reasons he should…because John Winchester wouldn’t want this to be his legacy…this twisted up, fucked out thing that ate him alive and stole his memory…that turned Dean into his whore…that painted them all into this corner just to survive.

Inevitably, those dreams turned on him…turned to dreams of his father and Sam…of kissing and fucking like lovers…of Sam’s hands and his father’s mouth…of Dean sandwiched between them, lost in the throes of passion.

He woke slowly, still feeling a hot, wet mouth working over his cock…and slowly realizing that was because there was one…hot and wicked…tongue curved to the underside while lips closed tight around his swollen flesh.

Dean’s hips flexed up involuntarily even as he reached to pull Sam away.  Sam shook him off and went back to sucking, licking…and fuck… “Sam… god… Sam… stop… fuck… so good… Sammy…”

He could feel Sam smile around him, smile and keep working, his hands reaching down to fondle Dean’s balls and Dean grabbed for him again.  “Sam…I’m….gonna….”

He felt it coming and Sam winked at him before he swallowed Dean’s entire length…even as Dean’s come exploded out of him.  Sam kept swallowing and milking Dean’s cock until he whimpered…whimpered and pulled Sam off…up.

Sam stretched out languidly beside Dean.  “Happy Birthday.”  Sam whispered.

“Birthday?  Sam…you shouldn’t have done that.” 

Sam frowned at him petulantly for a minute, then grinned.  “I couldn’t help it…you were so hard and it was so pretty…and I’ve been wanting to taste you for so long.”

Dean shook his head.  Those were not words he wanted from his brother.  “No…hand jobs are one thing…but this?  Just…no Sam.  I don’t want that for you.”  Not this…never this…and Dean knew it was his fault…knew that he should have stopped this…should have pushed him away…should have protected him better.

“It isn’t about what you want, Dean.  It’s about what you need.” Sam said, one hand sliding down over Dean’s chest.

“I mean it.”  Dean got up, fishing around for a pair of boxers.

“Oh…so it’s okay if Dad fucks you on the hood of the Impala, but I can’t suck your dick?”

Dean closed his eyes. “Yes.  I mean…no.  Sam.  Stop.”

“No.  I won’t.  I’m not stupid Dean.  Last night isn’t the first time I’ve seen you with him.”

Dean groaned and tried to move away but Sam’s hand caught his elbow and turned him around.  “Dean.  I keep telling you it’s okay…it’s what I want…to help you.”

“I don’t need your help, Sam.”

“Right, and it wasn’t my name you were calling out in your dreams?”

“Sam.  Please.  You’re my brother and I love you…but this is…”

“Wrong?”  Sam supplied.  “It doesn’t have to be.”

“What?  What kind of sense is that?  Wrong is wrong, Sam.”

“Is it wrong?  What you let Dad do?”

Dean hung his head.  “Yes.”

“Then, why?”

Dean didn’t want to answer that.  He turned away and sighed.

“Let me tell you why.”  Sam said, his voice softer now.  “Dad’s sick.  There’s something wrong with him…something from that hunt in Boston.  When it flares up, he has to get off…probably with you because somehow you were what he fixated on.  And the only way to stop it from happening is to kill him.”

Dean closed his eyes.  He’d tried so hard to keep it all away from Sam, to protect him.  “How long have you known?”

Sam approached from behind, wrapping his arms around Dean from behind.  “Since Pastor Jim’s.  I mean, I suspected before that…but when I found out what he was researching, it didn’t take much to figure it out.”

“Pastor Jim…he doesn’t…?”

“No.  He doesn’t suspect.  I covered for you, told him I knew the kid.”

“I told him I’d deal with it.”  Dean couldn’t pull away, the comfort Sam’s arms offered was dizzying.

“And you are dealing with it.” Sam said almost matter-of-factly. 

“I can’t…won’t…kill him.”

“I know.”  Sam said softly.  He kissed Dean’s neck.  “So you deal with it.  Right?”

And there it was.  The whole fucked up mess in a little package.  Dean couldn’t  **deal**  with it, so he dealt with it. He couldn’t take his father’s life, so he gave his up.  And now, Sam…

“Stop thinking.” Sam whispered.  He kissed his way around the back of Dean’s neck and up to his other ear. “Come back to bed.  It’s way too early to be up.”

“Don’t you have school?”  He felt Sam smile against his skin.

“So I’ll miss a few classes.  Won’t be the first time.”

Dean turned in the circle of his arms and Sam took advantage of it, his lips closing over Dean’s in a sloppy kiss.  “Are we…doing…this?”  Dean asked breathlessly, his eyes closed as his hands came to rest on Sam’s hips.

“Will you let me?” Sam asked in return.  “I’ve waited so long Dean.”

Dean groaned at the raw, naked need in his voice and his lips parted for Sam’s tongue without really thinking about it.  “What about Dad?”

“He’s already gone…went to town…”  Sam’s lips sucked Dean’s lower lip in, his teeth scraping over it lightly.  “I want to touch you Dean…want to taste you and kiss you…want to make it okay…”

 

_Okay…you think maybe Sam never really learned the meaning of that word, but he’d learned other things. Somewhere along the line, he’d learned uses for his fingers and tongue you’d never seen…or felt before…and you’re pretty damn sure that a boy of fifteen shouldn’t be that good at sucking cock…but he’s eager and talented and good god he can make you come…and it’s wrong and so fucking beautiful you can’t help yourself…and before you know it, the only time you sleep in separate beds is when your father is home…and on **those**  nights, Sam is there waiting for you when your father is done with you, and he holds you and softens the sting and makes you come…makes you forget…_

“Hey…thought we were going into town to pick out your birthday present.”  Dean said as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

“I already told you what I want.” Sam said, a smirk on his face as Dean’s eyes shot to their father at the other end of the couch.

“And I already told you no way.” Dean answered.

Sam pouted up at him, then jumped up. “Okay, let’s go to town then.”

“You’re not taking your brother to a bar, Dean.”  John said, looking up from his journal.

“No, knife shop.  Told him I’d get him something nice.”

“Make sure it’s more than pretty.”

“Yes sir.”

Sam was fairly quiet until they were on the road headed in to town.  “Why?”

Dean glanced at him, then turned his eyes back to the road.  “Why what?”

“Why won’t you give me what I want?”

Dean sighed in exasperation.  They’d been dancing around it for weeks.  Almost since Dean had given in to Sam’s touch, to Sam’s fucking seduction.  “Stop it.  You know why.”

Sam sighed too.  “Yeah, right.  I can’t believe we’re still having this conversation.”

“I can’t Sam.  I can’t do that to you.”

“Not to me, Dean.  With me.”

“Trust me on this Sam…it would be to you.”

“You say that as if you think I’ve never—“

“No!”  Dean pulled the car off the road onto a gravel drive that headed back to the ranch, and threw the brake on. “Don’t.  Just don’t.”

Sam turned to him, taking Dean’s hands.  “You’re shaking.”

“Sam…I mean it.”  Of course he was shaking.  His sixteen year old baby brother was asking him to hurt him…use him…to make him his fucking whore.

“I know you do.  I know.  But…Dean…I want it.  I want you to fuck me.”

Dean pulled his hands free and looked out his window.  “No.”  His voice was small and soft.  “Sam.”  He’d let it go too far already.  It should never have gone anywhere.  He should have put an end to it before it started. 

“I learned…I learned how, Dean.  So I’d be ready when you were.”

“God!”  He didn’t want to hear that.  He didn’t want to think about his baby brother with some stranger’s dick up his ass.  “Please, Sam.  Just don’t say anymore.” 

But Sam was far from done. He was on his knees now, leaning into Dean’s space.  “I figured out the hand thing myself…I know what I like…stands to reason you’d like it too, right?  Well, that and I watched you masturbate.” Sam turned Dean’s face toward him, kissed him lightly.  “The blow job though…that was…different.  I’d never had one.”

Sam’s lips skipped up over Dean’s chin.  “Remember NY?  I asked Joey to show me.”

“Fuck.”  Dean wanted to pull away, wanted to deny his brother’s words…to get out of the car and scream into the sky.

“He sucked my cock Dean…in the supply closet at school.”  He slid a hand into Dean’s hair, tilted his head so he could nip at Dean’s neck.  “I sucked his in the men’s room at the Burger King.”

Dean wasn’t breathing…he was shaking and not breathing and just fucking sitting there while his brother touched and kissed and licked him and told him how he’d learned what to do to make him come. 

“I wanted you even then.”

“Sam.” Dean groaned.  “You were thirteen.  You couldn’t know what you wanted.”

“I wanted you…always wanted you.”  Sam countered, then licked a long line up Dean’s neck and chin.  “Look at me.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered open.  Sam’s were intense, his pupils blown wide.  “Last summer, Chicago…remember?”

“Yeah…I remember.” Dean murmured.  Sam’s hand slithered down Dean’s body and between his thighs, palming his cock.

“You got me drunk…I told you then.  I wanted you then.  But you weren’t ready.”  Sam slid up to Dean’s ear, grabbing his cock and holding it tight.  “I’d already done it that night Dean…he looked like you…he was hot…but not as hot as you…a senior in that school in Florida…”

“God…”  Dean couldn’t believe how hot he was listening to his brother’s breathy confession.  “Sam…”

“Taught me how to use the right kind of lube…how to make it good for you…want to make it good for you Dean. Let me make it good for you.”

Dean wasn’t sure where the bottle of lube came from and he couldn’t move as Sam turned his back and pulled his jeans down.  He could have come in his pants as Sam shoved two slicked up fingers into himself.  “I did this earlier in the bathroom…want you so bad…Take it out for me Dean…let me see how hard you are…”

Dean knew it was a bad idea…knew he should slap Sam’s ass and drive straight back home and lock Sam in the closet until he came to his senses, but his cock was in his hand and he was really fucking hard.

“Want it Dean…want it inside me…please Dean…”  Sam was inching back toward him and Dean was all but helpless as he watched, unable to bring himself to do more.  “That’s it Dean…want it…want you inside me…”

Dean shuddered as Sam spread himself and the head of Dean’s cock was nestled there against him.  “Sam…please…”  His last plea to make it stop…and it went unnoticed as Sam pushed.  Dean closed his eyes, remembering that first time…that first, long, slow thrust of his father’s cock into him. 

Then Sam was sitting on his lap, head and shoulders bent forward and pressed against the roof of the car. “Fuck…tight…hot…fuck…”  Sam rocked a little and Dean saw stars.  “Damn it Sam…just…fuck…”

Dean shifted, moving Sam forward so he was on his knees and Dean could move a little more. He pulled out and pressed back in and Sam groaned.  “Again…do it again…”

Sam’s body was so hot, Dean wasn’t sure he could hold on…wasn’t sure he’d last more than a few more thrusts…tight, even with the lube….Then Sam did something with his hips that made Dean’s insides turn to liquid and come shooting out through his dick. 

Sam moaned and shook as he came.  “Happy Birthday to me.”  Sam said with a laugh, turning to kiss Dean before wiggling his jeans back up around his hips.


	5. Chapter 5

_It’s easier after the first time.  Your resistance is worn down and he seems to know…tells you he loves you…tells you it’s going to be okay…and you want to believe him…you want it to be okay…want it so bad you can taste it…it burns in your belly with your father’s come and the tequila you drink to eliminate the taste.  The bathroom mirror in the new place is fractured…and you think maybe its reflection…your splintered face…is more real than you are…that maybe it really is you…fractured…splintered…and the only reason you’re still in one piece is the frame of Sam and Dad that holds you together…_

Fresno, of all places is where it all came together…or all fell apart.  Dean wasn’t sure which was more true. Fresno, with a rash of demon possessions that lead to a rash of unpredictable crime.

It was hot and sticky and John left Sam and Dean languishing in an apartment barely big enough for the three of them to not bounce off one another while he hunted.  Money was tight and Dean took to hustling pool at night, dragging Sam off to a different bar every other night.  When they’d pull themselves into the apartment at 2am, it was still near 90 degrees and they’d share a cool shower before crashing into bed.

They’d been there two weeks, and Dean had seen his father maybe twice.  He was only wearing boxers as he collapsed on the couch.  It groaned in protest as he sank deep into the cushion.  Sam fell in beside him, his left hand automatically falling against the bare flesh of his brother’s leg, his right hand holding a bottle of beer.

“Sam…it’s too hot.”  Dean flung his brother’s hand away, but Sam dropped it back onto him, a little higher up his thigh.

“Never thought I’d hear Dean Winchester turning down sex because of the heat.”  Sam said wryly, staring at the television.

Dean took his hand and tugged at it.  “This isn’t an offer of sex, Sam.   **This**  is.”  He put Sam’s hand flush with his cock, which sort of lifted itself in interest.

Sam grinned and squeezed with that hand.  “Then I wonder what you’d consider this.”  Sam lifted the sweating beer bottle and poured icy cold beer over his brother’s chest.  Dean hissed at the contact, but before he could move, Sam was on top of him, licking it up.

If his dick was sort of interested in Sam’s hand, it was definitely looking up at the feeling of Sam’s tongue lapping over his abs.  Sam poured more beer, this time soaking Dean’s boxers, and the cold cotton settling over his cock was enough to make it sit up and take notice.  Sam licked and kissed over the waistband, sucking at the material, at Dean’s cock through the material.

Sam grinned up at him as Dean moaned and adjusted his position, opening his legs so that Sam could rearrange himself.  Sam slipped down to one knee and slowly worked Dean’s boxers down until he’d released his cock.  It bobbed between them, until Sam’s tongue moved closer…until Sam’s tongue slid up to the tip and circled around it…then his mouth was just engulfing him.

Dean’s head fell back against the back of the couch, letting Sam work up and down his cock, and trying not to thrust up into his throat…trying and not entirely succeeding.  He moaned wordlessly and fisted one hand in the ratty blanket covering the stained seat cushions and the other in Sam’s hair.

Neither of them heard the door when it opened.

They both heard it when it slammed shut.  Sam was up and on his feet in a split second, whirling to face the door.  John Winchester stood just inside the apartment, fury and disgust rolling off of him.  Dean struggled back into his boxers, his slippery wet erection not really assisting him.  He managed to get to his feet…but his brain was stuck. 

“Dad…I…we…”  He shook his head.  What could he say?

“Dean.  What the hell is going on?”

“It isn’t Dean’s fault.”  Sam said, shifting so he was standing between Dean and their father.

“No Sam?  Last I checked he was the older brother.  The one who should know it isn’t right.”

Sam snorted and Dean reached for him, suddenly knowing where this was going to go.  “Sam.  No.  Stop.”

Sam shook him off. “That’s rich, coming from you Dad.”

“You gonna blame me for this Sam?  I’m sorry, I don’t see how this is my fault.”

“No you don’t, but I can fix that.”

Sam was angry, Dean realized slowly.  “Sam.  Let it go.  Dad…you’re right.  It’s sick and wrong and I shouldn’t—“

“As I recall Dean, you didn’t.  I was the one who came after you.”  Sam said, though his eyes never left John’s. “Someone had to take care of you…he certainly wasn’t doing it.”  Sam pointed at John with his chin. 

John glowered at them, his hands in fists.  “You got something to say to me, boy, you better say it before I come over there and beat it out of you.”

“You…you and your damn, fucking hunts and heroics.  Don’t tell me you don’t realize how much time you’re missing…all those holes in your memory?  Went after that fucking incubus in Boston, came home all fucked up.  Bobby asked you to wait for him…told you he’d back you up, but you had to do it on your own.”

“Boston?  Sam, what the hell are you talking about?”

Some of John’s fury had drained, but Sam was just getting started.  “The incubus Dad.  It got you.  We’re not sure how…but its blood got inside you. And when you came home you fixated on Dean.”

“Sam, stop.”  Dean pulled on his arm.  “Let it go.  It’s okay.”

“No.  Dean.  It’s time he knew.  It’s time he understands what you’ve done to protect him.”

Dean’s stomach churned.  No.  It would kill his father…just as sure as if he pulled the trigger.  “Sam…it’s okay. We don’t have to do this.”

Sam turned away from John for the first time since the door slamming, raising a tender hand to Dean’s cheek. “We can make it better, Dean…we can make it right again…us, all of us together.”

Dean couldn’t make the words make sense.  He shook his head, and started to say something, but Sam was gone, moving over to their father.  “You don’t remember.  Probably never will.  It comes and goes, flares up like a virus you can’t cure.  When it comes, there’s only one way to make it go away.  Dean has to make it go away.”

John’s face was ashen, his eyes rising to Dean’s.  “What is your brother saying, Dean?  What have I done to you?”

Dean shook his head.  “No, no…Dad…it’s me…I shouldn’t have…but you were so…hurting.  You were hurting.”

“Maybe you should sit down.”  Sam said, and John nodded.  When he was on the couch, Sam sat on the coffee table in front of him.  “It started with hand jobs.  Dean would jerk you off.”

John’s eyes closed, his face pained.  “As far as I can figure it, the blow jobs didn’t start until Montgomery.”  Sam said. 

His words were like a blow to the gut for Dean…he’d spent so long hiding it all…and Sam was just laying it bare.  “Now, before you get angry at Dean for lying to you about it, remember he’s only doing this to protect you.”

“Protect me?”  John choked out, looking up. 

Sam reached out for his father’s hands. “If anyone outside our family knew, Dad, if other hunters knew, they’d put you down.  There isn’t a cure.  We’ve searched.  There’s nothing.”

“Dean?”

He could feel the splinters coming apart, little bits of himself falling to the floor.  It should make noise…but there was only the sound of the three of them breathing.  He nodded, as if that was an answer to the question in his father’s voice.  “I tried Dad…but it isn’t a demon…and it…it…”

“No one can blame you, Dad.  It isn’t really your fault…it’s like a virus…makes you need it.  But it was really fucking Dean up…and he needed me.”

Dean looked at Sam.  There was such conviction in his voice.  He believed his words were true.  Believed Dean needed him to…do the things he’d done.  And something in knowing that made Dean splinter just a little more.

John was shaking.  “Are you telling me that I’ve…that you’ve…touched me that way for the last…what? Four years?”

“It escalated slowly.” Sam said, holding John’s hands.  “The incuntabus attack in Montgomery didn’t help.”

“Dean?” 

Dean nodded and moved to sit beside him.  He let one hand fall on his father’s thigh. 

“What…what have I done?”

“It doesn’t matter, Dad.”  Dean said.

“It does.”  John’s eyes were wet with unshed tears.  “How far…I mean…”

It was Sam who answered, squeezing his hands.  “Yes, Dad.  Since Chicago.  When blow jobs weren’t enough.”

“I won’t let it take you away from us.  I made that decision when I realized what the options were.”  Dean said, cutting off his father’s reaction to that revelation.

“What options?”  John’s voice was shaky, trembling in a way Dean had never heard.

“We give you what you need whenever it flares up, or we let you hurt others trying to satisfy the need…or we kill you.” Sam said softly.

John took a deep, shuddering breath.  “You should have killed me.”  John said.  “Should have fucking killed me, Dean.”  He tried to pull his hands away, but Sam held them.  “Before I…”  He shook his head, couldn’t say the words.

Dean closed his eyes and leaned in close.  “No, Dad.  No.  We need you.  We need you here with us.”

“I don’t want to hurt you…I don’t want to be a monster.”  A single tear slipped from John’s eye and before Dean could think about it, he leaned in and kissed it away.  John stiffened.

Sam slipped to one knee, dropping John’s hands and moving in close beside Dean.  “Let us help you.” Sam whispered.  “Let us make it okay.”  He brushed a kiss over Dean’s face, then turned his head and brushed his lips over John’s.

John stiffened even more, and Sam’s hand slid up into his hair, tilting his head as he pressed his lips in for more.  Dean watched his father fight, watched Sam hold on until John loosened up just a little.  “It’s okay, Dad…it’s going to be okay.”  Sam whispered, his free hand stroking over John’s face. 

“Sam.”  John’s voice was a dark growl, not dissimilar to the sound it had when he said Dean’s name while buried deep inside him. 

Sam pulled Dean in, directed him up, urged him to kiss their father.  His lips were dry and tight and Dean glazed over them with his own.  Kissing wasn’t something they did…the only time had been in that alley inMontgomery.  Dean swallowed and closed his eyes and let Sam’s hand guide him back, slanting his mouth over his father’s, letting his tongue glide over his full bottom lip.  “It’s okay, Dad…I’m here.  I’ve got you.”  Dean whispered, falling easily into the mantra that held him together on those nights. 

“No…no…”  John pushed up, off the couch.  “This is wrong…dirty.  Fuck!”  He paced away, over to the door and back.  “You…we end this.”

Dean was up fast, faster than Sam, trying to reach his father before his father reached the gun in the drawer in the kitchen.  “We end this now.”  John had the gun and thrust it at him.  Dean looked down at the heavy metal in his hands.  “You do what you should have done.  You do the right thing.  You shoot me now, Dean.”

Dean shook his head.  Sam was behind him, his arms slipping around Dean’s waist, his head on Dean’s shoulder.  “No, Dad.”  Dean put the gun on the table.  “I’ll take you…this…however wrong it is, over losing you…over losing the good that you do.”

John shook his head miserably.  “The good can never repay for this…you’re my son…my god Dean, what have I done to you?”

Together Sam and Dean took two steps closer.  “Truthfully, Dad?  You’ve needed me, and every step of the way I gave you what you needed, willingly.”  He reached for John, reached out to touch him and John flinched.  “I wait for you, when I know.  When it’s one of those nights…I wait because I want it.  I want you.  I’ll do anything for you. Do you hear me Dad?”

John shook his head, tears falling.  Dean knew the feeling…it was everything he felt when Sam touched him the first time.  “We love you.” Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper.

John’s arms folded around his stomach, his eyes squeezed shut.  “Stop.” 

Sam disentangled himself from Dean and went to him, slipping between Dean and their father, both hands holding John’s face.  He kissed over the tear stained skin, and Dean could imagine the tiny flicks of tongue, tasting the salty sting.  He stepped up behind Sam, his turn to slide arms around his waist and press in against him. 

This was so many kinds of fucked up…but now that he knew, they had to make it okay… had to make it good…or they’d wake up and find that John Winchester had finished his final hunt…and the whole fucking mess would have been for nothing.

Dean reached around Sam, his hand sliding up against his father.  He wasn’t hard, but his dick knew Dean’s touch and Dean knew his way around it…knew that his father liked it when he pressed in on the base, just where it gave way to his balls…knew the tender spot just under the head…

“Dean…God…Dean, stop.”

“No.”  Dean unzipped him, despite the hands trying to push him away.  His hand closed around it, then he moved, guiding Sam to one side and going to one knee.  His father bucked, but Sam was already soothing him, kisses and touches and soft words Dean couldn’t quite make out.  Dean looked up, at his father’s face.  There were touches of the darkness there…something in the arousal bringing it into his eyes. 

He was fighting it, now that he understood what it was, now that he could recognize it.  “It’s okay…just let it come.  We’ll take care of you.”  Dean opened his mouth and slid it down over his father’s cock, and he felt his father try to pull away, felt the shudder as he twisted his mouth over the head and then there was a hand in his hair, pushing him faster.  Hips thrust forward.

Dean dared a glance up and John’s other hand was wrapped in Sam’s hair, holding his head while they kissed…Dean’s cock was stirring back to life and he reached for it, but his father’s fist in his hair pulled at him, and Dean looked up.

His face was dark, but not slack…the fever was there in his eyes, but he wasn’t gone from them, not like before…the need warred with his disgust, and won. 

“Bedroom.”  John’s voice ordered, that familiar growl sending a shiver down Dean’s back.  In all the years since it had started they’d never done it in a bed.  John kept one hand on the back of Sam’s neck, as Dean led the way into John’s room…and stopped, an arousal unlike anything he’d ever known sweeping through him.

John kissed Sam roughly and pushed him toward the bed.  “On your back.”

Sam peeled off his boxers and laid down on the bed, spreading his legs obscenely.  John was pulling off his clothes, another first.  Dean was starting to panic, when John pushed him toward Sam.  “Wanna see you…”

Dean stumbled forward, his heart pounding.  Sam leered up at him as he moved closer, dropping his wet boxers and suddenly realizing they didn’t have lube.  “Check the drawer.” Dean said, his voice scratchy and dry. Sam wriggled up the bed and pulled open the nightstand drawer, rummaging for a moment before he came up with the bottle of lube Dean had bought months before.

Before Dean could say anything, Sam was back toward the end of the bed squirting lube onto his fingers and reaching for Dean.  He tilted his ass up, his fingers spreading his cheeks.  Dean could feel his father behind him, guiding him.  His hands moved over Dean’s hips, down to his cock, guiding him into Sam.

The lube eased the way, but with no prep, Sam was tight…his face contorted and his breathing hitched…and Dean pulled back, but his father was there, pushing him forward.  “More…Dean…come on…”  Sam encouraged, and Dean breathed out as he finished pushing in. 

“Need…Dean…” John growled behind him and Dean held out his hand to Sam for lube, his hand moving behind him to wrap around his father’s hard cock, slicking him up.

Dean yelled out as his father pushed into him…too much…the combined sensation was too much and the pain sparked behind his eyes as his father’s scruffy chin rubbed across the back of his neck.  Sam’s torso was slick with sweat, his lube-slicked fingers pulling over his own hard on, his eyes squeezed shut.  Dean groaned as his father’s heavy stroke pushed him into Sam, as his teeth grazed over Dean’s shoulder.

It shouldn’t feel this good…it shouldn’t push him to want more…to need more skin against his…it shouldn’t drive him to lick over his brother’s flesh and drag his father’s face closer to kiss him sloppily over his shoulder…but Dean couldn’t stop now, couldn’t remember the reasons he’d fought so hard against this…against what his father needed and what his brother wanted…what his body demanded…couldn’t remember why it was wrong…just more…just this…

Sam came first, his come spurting out over his chest.  John’s hands tightened on Dean’s hips, pushing him forward until Dean could just lick the hot sticky liquid and Sam moaned.  John’s hips snapped forward, pushing Dean deeper into Sam, his come filling Sam’s ass and leaking out around his cock.  John finished last, collapsing forward against Dean.

Then Sam was pulling him, them…pulling and moving up the bed, drawing Dean to lie in the middle of the bed and reaching for John.  He hovered over them, pressing Sam into the bed as he kissed him, then turning to Dean to do the same.

Dean was still panting when John settled between them, Sam curling into their father and reaching for Dean. 

“Dean.”  John’s voice had changed again and Sam lifted up to kiss over his neck.

“Shh…Dad…it’s okay.  Sleep.”  Dean kissed his forehead.  The dark was gone again…and John knew this time…he couldn’t not know…”Not a monster.” Dean whispered, kissing over his face.  “Need you…all for you.”

John whimpered a little even as he was falling into the embrace of his exhaustion.  Dean was vaguely aware of Sam leaving the bed, then coming back to bed, sliding in behind Dean to hold him, nuzzling into his neck.  “Hid it all…no weapons…sleep….he’ll be okay.  We’ll all be okay.”

 

_You were sixteen when it started, and no one could lay the blame at your feet, though you do fine taking all the blame yourself…and so does he…the only one not full of blame is Sam…who is happy…who smiles more now than you remember…And it’s so wrong…the way he gives himself to you, the way you can’t help but take what he’s giving…and it’s fucked up…seriously fucked up…but you can’t bring yourself to change your mind…you’re weak…and you let them hold you, let the pressure of them contain your splintered pieces…And Sam is wrong…because this will never be okay…but if it keeps him alive and with you, if it keeps the family together…then it’s something you can live with…_


End file.
